THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


L 


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t:n;C5''i^<-d  by  Welch  &  Wa' 


g     ID)  IK 


A  U  5S, 


rr  BYHTMSKI.F  ' 


■f  Col.  I.  LMannm?  of  So.  Ca 


JA/\/vUj'        CLk.X     ' 


M-'f-^     U^^ulX^l 


<i<J«AX^'lic--t/V" 


MEMOIR 


OP 


JAMES   DE  VEAUX, 

OF  CHARLESTON,  S.  C. 

MEMBER   OF   THE  NATIONAL  ACADEMY  OF  DESIGN, 
NEAV- YORK. 

BY  ROBERT  W.  GIBBES,  M.  D. 


OF    COLUMBIA,  S.  C. 


COR.   MEMBER    OF   THE    NATIONAL    INSTITUTE,   WASHINGTON  ;   Of  THB 
N.   V.   HISTORICAL   SOCIETY,    ETC. 


"  With  gentle  mannen,  &nd  a  grateful  heart 
And  all  the  genius  of  the  graphic  art.'^ 


FOR  THE  mini  0!  HIS  MMILY. 


COLUMBIA,  S.  C. 

I.   C.   morgan's   LETTER  PRESS   PRINT. 

1846 


•»-  «     » 


■  •    1 

«  •   • 


€  •  *  «.«««         t 


*•  : 


ND 
:237 


,  TO    CHARLES   FRASER,   ESd. 

Charleston,  S.  C. 

^  My  Dear  Sir: — In  giving  to  the  public  this  tribute  of  friendship 

■•      to  a  son  of  your  native  city,  I  would  do  injustice  to  my  feelings, 

were  I  to  omit  inscribing  it  to  you. 

South  Carohna,  the  mother  of  your  distinguished  friend,  the  illus- 

1       trious  Allston,  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  names  she  has  fur- 

'       nished  to  Art,  and  yours  has  ever  been  prominent  in  its  history  in 

the  United  States.     The  accomplishments  of  the  scholar,  the  fine 

taste  of  the  artist,  and  the  successful  versatility  of  your  pencil,  re- 

'       quire  this  testimony  of  respect  and  esteem  from 

'  Yours,  sincerely, 

I 

I  ROBERT  W.  GIBBES. 


MEMOIR. 


It  is  a  pleasant  but  mournful  privilege  of  friendship, 
to  record  the  character  and  accomplishments  of  the 
departed,  and  an  impulse  often  arises  to  prompt  us  to 
that  sacred  duty.  When  the  object  of  our  attachment 
has  been  conspicuous  for  g-enius  or  talent,  and  its 
nurture  and  development  been  productive  of  valua- 
ble results,  it  is  incumbent  on  those  who  have  watch- 
ed its  progress  to  preserve  for  friends  the  memorials 
of  his  life.  In  preparing  and  publishing  the  follow- 
ing feeble  tribute  of  respect  to  a  much  valued  friend, 
it  may  perhaps  be  considered  that  the  circumscribed 
sphere  of  action  of  the  lamented  De  Veaux,  and  his 
comparatively  unknown  merits,  might  have  saved  the 
task;  but  for  these  very  reasons  have  I  been  actuated 
to  endeavour  to  preserve  the  features  of  his  existence. 
As  in  the  natural  world  the  history  and  phenomena 
of  a  brilliant  meteor,  however  evanescent,  in  a  distant 
locality  are  received  with  satisfaction  among  scientific 
men,  so  no  doubt  there  will  be  some  interested  in  art 


K||^M 


6  MEMOIR    OF 

and  in  g-enius,  who  will  find  gratification  in  perusing- 
this  sketch  of  the  personal  attributes  of  James  De 
Veaux.  It  is  true  he  was  but  httle  known  out  of  his 
own  State,  but  the  later  years  of  his  short  career  had 
g-iven  him  some  claims  to  be  ranked  among-  her  most 
g-ifted  sons,  for  the  efforts  of  his  pencil.  Few  young 
men  ever  had  more  or  warmer  friends,  and  there  are 
many  who  recall  with  affectionate  regard  and  respect 
their  acquaintance  of  but  short  duration.  He  was 
worthy  of  their  esteem. 

James  De  Veaux  was  born  in  the  city  of  Charles- 
ton, S.  C,  Sept.  r2th,  1812.  His  father  was  the  mate 
of  a  schooner  trading-  to  the  West  Indies,  and  was  the 
son  of  a  Captain  De  Veaux,  a  revolutionary  officer 
at  the  sieg-e  of  Savannah.*  He  was  killed  by  pirates 
in  1822.  In  childhood  James  had  but  few  opportu- 
nities and  received  the  rudiments  of  an  English  edu- 
cation at  a  free  school,  kept  on  the  Lancasterian  sys- 
tem. His  worthy  mother,  whose  five  children  were 
early  deprived  of  their  principal  support,  having  them 
dependant  on  her  personal  labour,  could  not  afford 
that  he  should  remain  at  school,  and  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  he  was  placed  as  a  clerk  in  the  book-store 
of  Edwin  Gibbes.     Here  he  remained  several  years 

*  Captain  De  Veaux  was  a  Frenchman,  and  had  a  commission  in  the 
American  army.  After  the  revolution  he  was  connected  with  the  Lazaretto, 
on  Morris's  Island,  and  with  Fort  Johnson,  in  Charleston  harbour,  where  he 
died  in  the  service  of  the  United  States.  He  was  a  tall  man,  of  dark,  swarthy 
complexion,  and  a  fine  looking  officer.  This  information  is  derived  from  a 
gentleman  now  living,  who  knew  him  well. 


^^■T't 


JAMES   DE    VEAUX.  / 

discharg-ing-  the  drudgery  of  a  shop  boy,  but  attract- 
ing- the  notice  of  visitors  by  his  quickness  in  attend- 
ance and  g-ood  humor  and  propriety  of  behaviour. 
He  was  fond  of  books,  and  employed  his  intervals  of 
business  in  reading"  biography  and  works  of  fiction, — 
among-  the  latter  he  took  g-reat  pleasure  in  Bunyan's 
^' Pilgrim^ s  Progress.''''  He  always  kept  a  copy  by 
him,  and  was  fond  of  speaking"  of  its  character  and 
composition.  On  an  occasion  when  he  wished  to 
present  to  a  lady,  who  had  been  kind  to  him,  some 
volume  of  remembrance,  he  chose  a  beautifully  bound 
copy  of  this  work,  as  the  most  interesting"  book  he 
could  find. 

With  the  boys  of  his  age  he  was  always  a  pleasing- 
companion  from  his  sprig'htly  disposition  and  fondness 
for  fun,  and  the  exercise  of  a  remarkable  talent  for 
good  natured  mimickry.  His  perception  of  the  ludi- 
crous was  acute  in  a  remarkable  degree.  His  im- 
agination was  vivid,  and  his  amusing  sketches  of 
men  and  things  with  his  boyish  pencil  first  attracted 
the  notice  of  that  genius  which  exhibited  itself  so 
prominently  in  maturer  years. 

The  late  Wm.  Hasell  Gibbes  observed  with  a 
Hvely  feeling  the  indications  of  a  talent  for  drawing 
in  the  young  clerk,  and  the  late  Major  A.  Garden 
took  a  similar  interest  in  him,  and  encouraged  him  to 
new  efforts  by  carrying  to  the  store  drawings  and 
engravings  for  his  use  in  copying.     Among  the  earli- 


O  MEMOIR    OF 

est  of  his  pencil  sketches  is  a  truthful  likeness  of  the 
venerable  Major  now  in  my  possession. 

Mr.  GiBBEs  forwarded  to  his  connection  and  friend, 
the  eminent  Washington  Allston,  a  sketch  of  "Jb- 
seph  and  Ids  Brethren,^^  for  an  opinion  as  to  its  merits. 
He  expressed  much  satisfaction  with  it,  and  earnestly 
advised  the  education  of  the  youth  who  had  given 
such  an  indication  of  genius  for  Art.  Upon  this,  Mr. 
G.  applied  to  Allston  to  take  him  as  a  pupil,  but,  as 
he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  receiving  students,  he  ad- 
vised that  he  should  be  placed  with  Mr.  Harding, 
then  in  Washington,  or  sent  to  Philadelphia. 

The  earhest  notice  I  have  of  him,  in  the  letters  of 
my  late  father,  is  one  of  March,  1829,  where  he 
says,— 

"  It  will  gratify  you  and  your  brother  to  learn  that 
I  am  using  my  most  strenuous  efforts  to  raise  a  sub- 
scription among  my  friends  for  James  De  Veaux^  either 
to  go  to  Washington,  to  a  particular  friend  of  Wash- 
ington Allston's,  an  artist  of  very  high  character,  for 
instruction  and  qualification  as  such,  or  to  place  him 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Bowman,  also  a  painter  of 
reputation,  who  is  taking  portraits  next  door  to  us, 
and  has  taken  a  great  prepossession  in  favor  of  the 
poor  boy.  I  have  collected  two  hundred  dollars  for 
him,  but  must  strive  to  get  more.  He  improves  daily 
and  is  delighted  and  grateful  for  what  we  are  doing 
for  him," 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  9 

Some  small  addition  to  this  amount  was  made,  but 
Mr.  G.  and  the  Rev.  AUston  Gibbes  added  what  was 
needed,  and  he  was  soon  after  sent  to  Philadelphia. 
Before  he  left  Charleston,  he  painted  in  oil  several 
likenesses,  cabinet  size,  among"  which  were  worthy 
of  notice.  Major  Gai'den,  Wm.  Hasell  Gibbes  and 
Charles  E.  Rowand,  Esq. 

In  Philadelphia,  he  remained  some  time  under  the 
instruction  of  John  R.  Smith,  the  veteran  teacher  of 
drawing",  and  was  highly  esteemed  by  him  for  his 
aptness  and  rapid  improvement  with  the  pencil.  He 
became  a  private  pupil  of  Inman,  and  enjoyed  also 
the  kind  advice  and  assistance  of  Sully.  From  these 
distinguished  artists  he  derived  his  first  knowledg-e 
of  colour.  While  with  Mr.  Inman  he  improved  very 
much,  and  his  early  pictures  show  the  faithfulness  of 
study  of  his  style;  they  are  much  after  the  manner  of 
his  preceptor. 

His  pleasing  manners,  intelhg-ence  and  love  of  his 
art,  made  him  friends  among-  all  the  artists,  and  his 
prog-ress  was  much  facilitated  by  opportunities  of  see- 
ing" them  work,  as  well  as  by  enjoying"  the  privileg-e 
of  drawing:  and  sketching^  ''in  umber  and  white,"  in 
the  Gallery  of  Sculpture  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts. 
Here  he  remained  until  the  fall  of  1832,  enjoying-  the 
friendship  and  instruction  of  the  distinguished  artists 
above  named.     At  this  time  at  the  ag-e  of  twenty,  I 

induced  him  to  commence  his  public  career  as  a  por- 

2 


10  MEMOIR  OF 

trait  painter,  in  Columbiaj  S.  C,  where  at  the  mod- 
erate charg-e  of  thirty  dollars,  he  was  successful  in 
procuring"  full  employment,  and  in  g-iving-  satisfaction 
to  most  of  his  patrons.  During*  the  session  of  the 
Convention  for  Nulhfication,  soon  after  his  arrival  in 
November,  he  had  among*  his  sitters,  the  Hon.  Geo. 
McDuffie,  Hon.  Henry  Deas,  Dr.  Thos.  Cooper,  F. 
W.  Pickens,  Esq.,  Gen.  J.  B.  Earle,  Hon.  W.  D. 
Martin  and  other  disting"uished  men,  whose  portraits 
are  still  valued  as  correct  likenesses.  He  painted 
during-  the  year  following-,  about  thirty  portraits, 
when  his  increasing-  reputation  enabled  him  to  ad- 
vance to  forty  dollars,  and  the  year  after  he  received 
fifty  dollars.  With  the  exception  of  a  short  visit  to 
the  neig-hbouring-  town  of  Camden,  where  he  was 
kindly  received  and  liberally  patronized,  he  continued 
at  Columbia  until  the  fall  of  1835,  when  he  made  an 
unsuccessful  visit  to  his  native  city  Charleston.  "A 
prophet  is  without  honour  in  his  own  country."  He 
remained  the  winter  here,  and  painted  a  fine  portrait 
of  the  late  Dr.  Wm.  Read,  one  of  Rev.  Wm.  Capers, 
Dr.  Philip  G.  Prioleau,  Dr.  Thomas  G.  Prioleau,  W. 
Og-ilby,  Esq.,  R.  Barnwell  Smith,  Esq.,  and  a  few 
others,  but  artists  with  less  merit  and  no  claims  on  the 
community,  were  more  successful,  and  he  returned 
soon  after  to  Columbia.  In  Charleston  he  enjoyed 
the  friendship  and  kind  consideration  of  the  g-ifted  and 
highly  accomplished  Eraser,  of  whose  talents  and 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  11 

acquirements  he  had  a  very  hig"h  estimate,  and  the 
worthy  and  disting-uished  White,  took  much  concern 
for  his  welfare.  De  Veaux  appreciated  much  the 
generous  interest  of  those  of  his  own  profession,  and 
was  studiously  cautious  to  avoid  giving-  cause  of  of- 
fence to  them.  If  at  any  time  he  did  so  by  pleasantry 
of  remark  about  their  works,  his  keen  perception  of 
the  ludicrous  was  the  cause  of  much  mirth,  but  never 
was  he  known  intentionally  to  say  or  do  what  would 
give  a  moment's  pain  to  another.  He  seemed  to  have 
in  mind  the  remark  of  Reynolds,  ''that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  two  painters  in  the  same  line  of  art  to  live  in 
friendship," — hence  he  was  anxious  always  to  avoid 
any  cause  of  difference  with  his  brethren.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  invited  to  a  neighbourhood  to  paint 
two  portraits  with  a  prospect  of  others — on  his  arrival 
there,  he  learned  that  another  artist  had  received  a 
similar  invitation,  and  was  expected  in  a  few  weeks. 
He  painted  those  he  was  engaged  for,  and  though  his 
success  with  them  would  have  given  him  possession 
of  the  field,  he  refused  all  others  and  returned  to  Co- 
lumbia, that  he  might  not  interfere  with  the  hopes  of 
the  other.  It  happened  somewhat  strangely  that  on 
his  return  to  my  house,  which  was  his  home,  he  found 
a  letter  from  this  same  artist,  who  was  out  of  funds, 
asking  a  loan  to  enable  him  to  go  to  the  neighbour- 
hood De  Veaux  had  just  left.  This  was  sent  to  him, 
and  he  went  and  enjoyed  the  generosity  of  his  hon- 
ourable rival.     On  another  occasion  he  was  invited 


12  MEMOIR  OF 

to  Virg-inia  to  take  several  family  portraits,  which  he 
did,  and  could  have  procured  others,  but  he  found  a 
relation  of  the  family  residing-  in  the  town,  who  prac- 
tised his  art,  and  here  ag-ain  he  declined  additional 
orders,  from  the  same  high  principle.  Though  in 
neither  case  was  there  any  obligation,  his  noble  na- 
ture was  opposed  to  apparently  taking-  an  advantage 
of  poverty  and  need,  by  his  superior  abilities. 

It  was  alwavs  a  source  of  bitter  mortification  and 
deeply  depressing-  influence  on  his  sensitive  feehngs, 
that  he  could  not  make  "  a  local  habitation  and  a  name 
in  his  native  city." 

For  a  long-  time  subsequently  he  gave  way  to  feel- 
ings of  great  despondency,  became  spiritless  and 
gloomy,  and  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  idea  that 
he  was  doomed  to  failure  in  his  profession.  In  fact 
he  seriously  requested  me  to  look  about  for  some  oth- 
er employment,  in  which  he  might  earn  a  support  for 
his  family.  He  had  an  excitable  temperament  and  a 
morbid  sensibility,  and  while  a  litde  encouragement 
was  a  strong  stimulus  to  his  efforts,  the  slightest  de- 
pressing effect  instantly  prostrated  his  exertions.  It 
was  painful  to  witness  the  deep  suffering  he  under- 
went, when  some  fancied  slight  or  ill-natured  criticism 
of  his  works  came  to  his  sensitive  ear.  At  times  there 
was  strong  reason  to  fear  that  his  fits  of  abstraction 
and  gloom  would  end  in  a  permanent  darkness  of  his 
fine  luminous  intellect. 

His  gendemanly  propriety  of  manner,  and  his  so- 


JAMES  DEVEAUX.  13 

cial  qualities  were  such  as  to  attach  to  him  friends, 
wherever  he  would  allow  them  to  become  so,  but  he 
had  a  humiliating"  sensitiveness  of  his  humble  orig-in 
and  want  of  education,  which  made  him  reserved 
among"  strang"ers,  and  disposed  to  avoid  society.  Per- 
haps this  disposition  was  increased  in  him  by  the  fact, 
that  nearly  all  his  most  intimate  friends,  and  those 
who  exhibited  most  interest  for  him,  were  men  of  ed- 
ucation and  high  position  in  society.  Among"  his  pat- 
rons he  numbered  many  of  the  disting"uished  citizens 
of  South  Carolina.  With  the  few  indmate  friends  of 
a  small  circle,  he  was  a  g-reat  favourite,  and  his  com- 
pany much  appreciated.  Among"  these  he  was  most 
intimate  with  W.  Hampton,  jr.,  whose  devoted  friend- 
ship for  him  attracted  the  nodce  of  his  father,  Col.  W. 
Hampton.  With  a  generous  liberality  towards  one 
to  whom  his  son  was  so  attached,  he  enabled  him  to 
place  at  his  disposal  the  means  of  visiting*  the  collec- 
tions of  art  in  England,  and  the  galleries  of  the  Lou- 
vre. Overwhelmed  with  emotion  at  the  unexpected 
and  noble  liberality  of  his  friend,  De  Veaux's  grateful 
feehngs  were  excessive,  and  his  delight  at  the  pros- 
pect of  the  personal  examination  and  study  of  the  old 
masters  of  his  art,  excited  him  to  an  enthusiasm  which 
gave  buoyancy  to  his  spirits,  and  sparkled  in  his  con- 
versation. Soon  was  this  followed  by  the  usual  des- 
pondency, upon  the  reflection  that  he  was  too  humble 
to  be  the  recipient  of  such  favor — that  he  never  could 


14  MEMOIR  OF 

repay  such  kindness — that  his  previous  education  be- 
ing defective  he  could  never  attain  high  excellence, — 
and  it  was  only  after  long  and  frequent  argument  and 
earnest  persuasion,  that  I  induced  him  to  accept  the 
proffered  golden  opportunity. 

While  in  Columbia,  he  worked  with  assiduity, 
though  at  times  he  would  feel  the  want  of  the  pres- 
ence of  artists  with  whom  he  could  converse  about 
the  mechanical  execution  of  his  work,  and  receive  the 
stimulus  to  exertion  which  their  competition  and  esprit 
de  corps  would  afford.  Often  he  became  weary  of 
his  steady  employment,  and  yearned  for  the  northern 
cities,  where  he  could  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  art 
in  the  collections  of  public  institutions.  Twice  he 
made  short  visits  to  New-York  and  Philadelphia,  to 
inspire  fresh  zeal  among  his  old  associates,  and  to  see 
the  works  of  our  eminent  countrymen.  His  earnings 
he  freely  contributed  to  the  support  of  his  mother  and 
family,  and  his  whole  desire  for  money  seemed  to  be 
on  their  account.  His  purse  was  always  open  to  the 
needy,  and  while  a  dollar  was  left,  the  applicant  for 
charity  was  never  refused. 

FeeHng  sensibly  the  wants  of  his  own  condition 
and  that  of  his  family,  he  had  a  heart  to  appreciate  the 
necessities  of  others.  I  well  remember,  that  when 
he  received  the  first  fruits  of  his  pencil,  and  was  in 
possession  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars,  he 
forwarded  one  hundred  of  it,  to  save  from  ruin   a 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  15 

young"  engraver  in  Philadelphia,  who  had  married 
before  he  had  means  of  support  for  a  family,  and  be- 
come deeply  involved  in  debt.  An  urgent  appeal  to 
DeVeaux,  to  loan  him  what  would  save  from  the 
sheriff  the  few  articles  of  furniture  he  had,  and  enable 
him  to  keep  up  his  work,  was  immediately  answered, 
and  nearly  the  whole  of  his  first  receipts  was  sent  to 
his  relief.  This  noble  generosity  was  illy  requited 
by  the  recipient  who  subsequently  became  estranged 
from  him  by  some  fancied  injury,  which  De  Veaux's 
pride  and  self-respect  prevented  his  noticing.  How 
apt  is  this  to  be  the  case  that  evil  is  returned  for  good 
in  this  censorious  and  selfish  world ! 

For  several  years  he  lacked  confidence  in  his  abili- 
ties, and  great  diffidence  retarded  his  progress  in  his 
profession.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  had  led  him 
to  observe  the  deference  paid  to  wealth  and  to  those 
who  were  supposed  to  have  it,  and  a  sensitive  nature 
made  him  constantly  suspicious  that  in  his  intercourse 
with  society,  he  was  in  a  position  to  which  his  pov- 
erty did  not  entitle  him.  His  innate  modesty  could 
never  be  satisfied  that  talents  and  professional  attain- 
ments gave  him  higher  claims  to  consideration,  than 
the  accidental  possession  of  property  qualificadons. 
Whilst  he  was  influenced  by  these  consideradons,  a 
still  greater  source  of  mournful  regret  was  the  want 
of  a  classical  and  collegiate  education.  How  many 
reject  by  idleness  and  dissipation,  opportunities  that 
nature's  gifted  sons  sigh  for  in  vain ! 


16  MEMOIR  OP 

Acute  sensibility  was  specially  characteristic  of  his 
nature,  and  a  serious  bar  to  his  improvement.  It  was 
difficult  for  him  to  be  satisfied  with  his  work,  and 
even  when  most  so,  the  slightest  criticism,  thoug-h  by 
unqualified  persons,  often  caused  him  to  destroy  some 
of  his  best  efforts.  He  was  occasionally  fretted  into  a 
feeling-  bordering-  on  apathy,  which  it  was  difficult  for 
his  friends  to  remove.  Until  his  first  visit  to  Europe, 
he  was  habitually  inclined  to  look  more  upon  the  dark 
shades  of  life,  and  seemed  afraid  to  indulg-e  in  bright 
dreams  of  the  future.  The  view  of  anticipated  op- 
portunities or  prospective  excellence,  would  always 
be  stifled  by  desponding  thoughts,  which  were  con- 
stantly intruding  on  his  imagination,  to  dispel  the  sun- 
shine of  hope  with  gloomy  forebodings  of  disappoint- 
ment. His  dependant  position  on  popular  favour — 
the  want  of  success  in  Charleston — his  painful  appre- 
ciation of  obligations  to  others,  all  tended  to  throw 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  advancement.  And,  ad- 
ded to  all  these  difficulties,  the  low  state  of  art  in  our 
country,  and  the  want  of  patronage  of  gifted  spirits, 
decaying  for  the  stimulus  of  support,  were  calculated 
to  weaken  rather  more  his  efforts  to  attain  hisfh  ex- 
cellence.  In  Europe,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  died, 
leaving  sixty  thousand  pounds,  and  Sir  Thomas  Law- 
rence accumulated  wealth,  though  his  generous  lib- 
erality made  him  squander  it.  George  III.,  gave 
Benjamin  West  an  annual  allowance  of  one  thousand 
pounds  for  the  sake  of  art,  and  Louis  Phillippe  has 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  17 

another  worthy  American  artist  permanently  employ- 
ed in  his  service.  Our  country  is  highly  honoured  in 
having"  furnished  to  England  and  France  her  sons  of 
genius,  who  are  more  appreciated  there  than  in  their 
own  land !  In  the  United  States,  who  of  our  ar- 
tists, from  Gilbert  Stuart  to  the  present  day,  has 
earned  more  than  a  bare  support'?  And  how  many 
have  failed  to  do  that?  Too  often  is  want  the  ac- 
companiment of  merit  here,  where  the  fine  arts  are 
appreciated  only  on  utilitarian  principles,  and  paint- 
ings are  valued  for  the  beauty  of  their  frames,  or  as  a 
necessary  relief  to  the  monotony  of  a  parlour  wall. 

In  Charleston  an  effort  was  once  made  to  establish 
an  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  and  we  find  in  history  a 
complimentary  notice  of  it, 

"  but  e'en  the  spot 


Where  it  once  stood  is  now  forgot.' 


In  the  fife  of  the  distinguished  Sir  Henry  Raeburn,* 
one  of  his  distinctions  is,  having  been  elected  "a 
member  of  the  Academy  of  Arts  in  South  Carolina," 
"Sic  transit  gloria  mundiP^ 

During  the  summer  of  1836,  De  Veaux  sailed  for 
Europe,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  deep  regret  that  a  pack- 
age of  his  letters  which  was  loaned  to  some  friend 

*  The  finest  portrait  which  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  see,  was  that  of 
Dugakl  Stuart  by  Raeburn,  since  lost  in  the  fire  which  destroyed  some  fine 
works  in  the  Pennsylvania  Academy.  A  fine  copy  by  Sully  is  in  the  St.  An- 
drews Society's  Hall  in  Charleston,  a  present  from  a  worthy  patron  of  art,  Dr. 
P.  Tidyman,  of  South  Carolina. 

3 


18  MEMOIR  OF 

has  been  lost  or  mislaid,  as  it  deprives  me  of  his  first 
impressions  abroad  in  his  own  langfuag^e.  An  inter- 
esting- communication  from  an  intimate  friend  and 
brother  artist  who  accompanied  him,  supplies  the  loss 
so  well,  that  it  is  here  copied,  with  kind  acknowledg-e- 
ments  to  J,  H.  Mifflin,  Esq.  for  the  privileg-e. 

"Columbia,  Pa.  Nov.  30,  1844. 
My  Dear  Sir, — It  was  but  a  few  days  since  I  dis- 
covered accidentally  that  a  letter  for  me  was  adver- 
tised in  the  list  of  those  lying"  at  the  Post  Office  in 
Philadelphia,  and  it  is  but  two  days  since  your  valued 
favour  was  received — forwarded  to  me  at  this  place, 
where  I  now  reside.  I  regret  very  much  that  I  did 
not  have  it  earlier,  as  I  am  sorry  to  lie  thus  long-  under 
the  imputation  of  being  indifferent  to  the  subject  of 
your  communication.  I  have  thoug-ht  often  with  some 
degree  of  compunction  of  the  silence  and  apparent 
apathy  of  my  affection  for  and  remembrance  of  De 
Veaux,  that  I  had  made  no  public  testimony  to  his 
talents,  nor  record  of  my  esteem.  I  attributed  to 
you  the  obituary  of  him,  and  it  was  g-rateful  to  me  to 
see  so  just  and  proper  a  tribute  to  one  who  so  well 
deserved  it,  and  whom  I  so  much  esteemed  and  loved. 
I  am  rejoiced  that  you  are  about  to  undertake  some- 
thing- more  worthy  of  him,  issuing-  appropriately  from 
you,  and  from  his  native  State.  I  write  you  at  once 
that  I  may  correct  my  appearance  of  neg-lect  of  this 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  19 

melancholy  yet  pleasinof  duty  of  recording"  my  admi- 
ration of  the  virtues  of  our  friend.  I  will  crowd  in 
my  sheet  at  present,  without  much  order,  what  will 
furnish  an  outline  of  the  opportunity  I  had  to  judg-e 
of  his  occupation  or  pursuits  at  any  particular  time, 
and  I  will  be  happy  hereafter  to  answer  more  mi- 
nutely any  questions  to  which  my  suggestions  may 
give  rise.  Most  of  our  correspondence  was  so  en- 
tirely familiar  and  unconstrained,  that  the  letters  of 
our  friend  will  not  do  justice  to  his  talents  for  episto- 
lary writing,  nor  to  his  poetical  feeling  as  an  artist; — 
in  these,  as  in  conversation  with  artists,  I  think  I  may 
say,  there  was  in  some  degree  the  affectation  of  avoid- 
ing affectation, — he  had  seen  so  much  of  mock  en- 
thusiasm, and  been  so  often  disgusted  with  the  cant 
phrases  of  students  of  painting,  that  he  expressed 
much  less  than  he  felt  admiration  for  the  art,  or  for 
the  works  of  art.  It  was  not  in  his  letters  nor  con- 
versation that  you  could  discover  his  feeling  for  the 
beauties  of  an  artist,  but  in  the  avidity  with  which  he 
returned  again  and  again,  as  I  have  often  seen  him, 
to  sit  silent  for  hours,  gazing  at  the  works  of  Titian, 
Rubens  and  Vandyke.  When  introduced  to  strangers 
he  was  rather  reserved — seemed  never  to  wish  to 
make  new  acquaintances,  and  the  artist  never  shewed 
through  his  conversation.  In  fact  I  think  he  was  mor- 
bidly sensitive  at  one  time  about  his  profession — it 
seemed  to  be 

"  His  shame  in  crowds,  his  solitary  pride." 


20  MEMOIR  OF 

I  became  acquainted  with  DeVeaux  when  he  first 
visited  Philadelphia,  and  attended  J.  R.  Smith's  draw- 
ing" school — and  we  were  intimate  from  that  time  for- 
ward. It  was  during-  the  spring",  I  believe,  of  1830. 
I  had  there  a  room  to  paint  in,  and  DeVeaux  frequent- 
ly came  to  it ;  and  we  occasionally  copied  pictures  to- 
gether ; — he  had  then  practised  a  little  in  oil ;  I  had  not 
at  all,  and  his  presence  was  a  great  assistance  to  me. 
Sully  lent  us  (as  he  always  does  liberally)  sketches 
and  heads — these  were  frequently  copied  by  several 
of  the  artists'  students,  then  at  drawing"  school,  De 

Veaux,  M and  myself.     De  Veaux,  at  that  time, 

had  seen  no  one  but  Osg-ood  and  Bowman  paint  in 
Charleston,  and  often  spoke  of  them.  This  first  year, 
while  at  drawing"  school,  he  painted  a  small  portrait  for 
me.  He  copied  in  umber  and  ivhite  from  the  plaister, 
in  the  statue  g"allery  of  the  Philadelphia  Academy  but 
never  copied  any  paintings  there.  He  admired  Sul- 
ly very  much — always  did  justice  to  the  sweetness 
and  grace  of  his  female  portraits;  but  Inman  came 
to  Philadelphia  just  at  this  time,  and  had  a  great  run, 
after  painting  a  portrait  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  in 
which  is  a  portrait  of  De  Veaux's  hand,  (you  will  see 
it  is  not  an  old  man's  hand  from  the  engraving).  He 
painted  Judge  Rawle,  and  most  of  the  Philadelphia 
Bar; — a  picture  of  Penn  for  the  Historical  Society, 
&c;  and  DeVeaux  became  his  pupil.  While  Inman 
and  Childs  were  carrying  on  business,  lithographing, 
&c.  Albert  Newsam  (Childs's  protege)  was  there,  and 


JAMES  DEVEAUX.  21 

De  Veaux  became  interested  in  and  well  acquainted 
with  him,  (a  deaf  mute,) — he  used  to  and  could  ever 
afterward  talk  rapidly  with  him  upon  his  fingers.  I 
recollect  once,  on  De  Veaux's  return  from  Europe, 
Newsam  meeting-  us  at  night,  seeing-  De  Veaux  un- 
expectedly under  a  lamp  at  a  corner,  and  the  rapid 
conversation  that  their  fing-ers  and  eyes  kept  up! — 
De  Veaux,  I  think,  was  one  of  Inman's  favorite  pu- 
pils. De  Veaux  always  spoke  with  familiar  and  kind 
regard  of  him  personally,  and  with  great  admiration 
of  his  wonderful  versatiUty  of  talent  and  facility  of 
execution.  He  assisted  Inman  in  copying  King's  In- 
dian Gallery.  This  was  while  they  were  lithograph- 
ing. At  his  commencement  of  painting  with  Inman, 
he  painted  another  portrait — a  head  for  me.     At  this 

time  he  was  intimate  with ,  an  engraver,  who 

had  many  sketches  that  he  made  at  different  times 
until  he  went  to  Europe,  when  their  intimacy  ceased. 

He  was  intimate  with  a  family,  McM ,  for  whom 

he  painted  two  portraits,  one  of  a  young  lady  just 
married,  very  pretty.  In  the  fall  of  1834,  after  his  re- 
turn from  a  successful  professional  residence  with  you 
at  Columbia,  and  a  visit  to  Camden,  (you  well  know 
of  these,  the  dates,  his  success  and  improvement,)  at 
his  instance  I  accompanied  him  southward  to  Charles- 
ton. This  summer  and  autumn  were  the  last  long 
visit  he  made  to  Philadelphia;  at  this  time  he  painted 
two  of  your  brothers,  at  my  room  in  Arch  street.     We 


22 


MEMOIR  OF 


went  through  BaUimore,  and  by  steam  boat  thence 
to  Charleston.  I  recollect  his  enthusiasm  upon  see- 
ing* Charleston  rising  above  the  water — he  said  it  was 
like  his  idea  of  the  approach  to  Venice.  After  this 
we  corresponded  very  briskly,  but  I  more  frequently 
destroyed  his  letters.  I  was  in  Augusta,  Ga.  that 
winter  and  the  next,  and  in  the  spring  of  1836,  while 
he  was  in  Camden  or  Columbia,  I  was  at  Mobile. 
We  appointed  a  meeting  at  New  York  to  sail  for  Eu- 
rope on  the  first  of  August.  We  met  but  a  few  days 
before  the  time,  and  sailed  upon  that  day  in  the  Or- 
pheus, Capt.  Beasley,  and  had  a  passage  of  twenty 
days  to  Liverpool.  Lieut.  Wilkes^  of  the  Exploring 
Expedition,  and  Miss  Martineau,  were  among  our 
passengers.  To  you  I  may  repeat  that  I  think  the  re- 
serve, and  almost  haughtiness  of  De  Veaux's  manner 
to  strangers,  was  in  great  part  a  sensitiveness  to  his 
dependance  and  the  usual  poverty  of  our  profession. 

His  late  familiar  association  with  those  ( for 

instance,)  who  appreciated  him  as  a  man  as  well  as 
an  artist,  but  to  whom  money  was  an  indifferent  mat- 
ter, tended  to  make  him  sensitive  to  this.  I  know 
that  he  long  hesitated  to  accept  the  kindness  of  Col. 

W.  H in  furnishing  means  for  the  voyage,  but 

always  acknowledged  the  very  handsome  manner  of 
his  kindness.  While  I  admit  to  you  that  he  some- 
times gave  way  to  prejudice,  perhaps  too  hastily  con- 
ceived, I  must  speak  of  the  firmness  of  his  friend- 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  23 

ships,  the  warmth  of  his  affections,  and  the  lasting- 
impressions  which  kindness  made  upon  him; — if  he 
was  averse  to  incur  obUg-ation,  he  was  not  slow  to 
acknowledge  it,  and  he  never  forgot  it.  Of  yourself 
and  family,  he  always  spoke  with  esteem,  affection 
and  gratitude. 

He  was  fond  of  fun — of  the  burlesque — and  with 
me  familiar  enough,  but  his  manner  was  cold  and 
dig-nified  to  strang-ers.  I  was  highly  amused  with  his 
account  of  an  interview  with  a  good  old  Liverpool 
merchant,  Mr.  Forde,  upon  whom  he  had  a  letter  of 
credit  from  Col.  H.  "  But,"  said  Mr.  F.,  "  Col.  H.  does 
not  limit  your  credit  in  this  letter."  "I  did  not  expect 
he  would,  sir,"  or  "certainly  not,  sir,"  was  the  calm 
reply  of  our  dignified  friend.  He  laughed  when  he 
told  me  this,  and  very  heartily. 

The  high  fertility  and  verdant  freshness  of  English 
scenery  delighted  De  Veaux :  he  was  here  too  enthu- 
siastic— I  thought  too  partial  to  be  a  good  patriotic 
yankee — I  was  jealous  of  the  admiration  he  gave  to 
the  grand  scale  of  every  thing  English — the  Baronial 
castles,  parks,  &c.  We  visited  together  Chester,  Ea- 
ton Hall  near  it,  Knowsly  Hall,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of 
Derby,  where  we  saw  a  fine  collection  of  pictures, 
and  a  kind  old  house-keeper,  who  had  been  at  Wash- 
ington with  some  minister  or  consul,  and  who  permit- 
ted us  a  long  loiter  in  the  gallery — shewed  us  the 
family  portraits  in  a  sitting  room,  where  some  of  the 


24  MEMOIR  OF 

family  were  seated,  &c.  In  Liverpool  we  saw  (in 
the  City  Hall,  I  think,)  portraits  of  Lawrence,  Phil- 
lips and  Hoppner.  De  Veaux  liked  Hoppner  best, 
and  always  continued  very  partial  to  his  style.  Here 
we  saw  the  first  eleg-ant  dignitary  of  a  steward  or 
showman  round  a  public  or  opened  house,  and  we 
were  afraid  to  offend  him  by  the  offer  of  a  half  crown 
— we  learned  better  afterward. 

We  went  to  Kenilworth  Castle,  Warwick  and  War- 
wick Castle,  where  we  admired  its  town,  its  park,  its 
cedars,  the  vase,  and  its  Rahens's^  and  De  Veaux  often 
laug^hed  at  recounting"  the  wonderful  narrative  of  the 
porter  who  shews  "Sir  Guy's  porridge  pot,"  and  "a 
rib  of  the  dun  cow,"  &c.  &c.  We  went  to  Stratford 
upon  Avon,  and  the  room  of  course — where  we  in- 
scribed our  names.  At  the  church  and  over  the 
grave  of  Shakspeare,  we  were  called  upon  for  our 
subscription  to  a  new  monument,  or  repairs  of  that 
and  the  church,  I  forget  which.  De  Veaux  would 
always  give,  you  know,  not  to  say  liberally — it  was 
thoughtlessly,  but  money  had  no  value  with  him — 
and  we  set  down  our  mite  of  testimony  to  our  own 
taste.  Through  Oxford  we  went  to  London.  Here 
we  first  went  to  Morley's  Hotel,  Trafalgar  Square, — 
afterward  to  Newman  street,  Oxford  street,  and  took 
lodgings  over  a  Mr.  Lloyd's,  and  near  Jackson's  paint- 
ing room.  He  was  then  deceased,  and  his  pictures 
yet  some  of  them  for  sale — it  was  near  all  the  artists. 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  25 

We  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Sully,  introducing-  us  to 
Mr.  Leslie,  upon  whom  we  called, — but  only  once. 
Dr.  Cooper,  of  South  Carolina,  had  given  De  Veaux  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Rogers,  the  poet,  and  this  procured  him 
the  welcome  of  the  house.  I  recollect  he  breakfast- 
ed with  him  one  morning.  Rogers's  collection  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  pictures  was  the  most  choice  in 
England.  He  had  the  best, — few  other  pictures,  but 
all  gems, — one  '•'Head  of  Christ'^  by  Guido,  bought 
at  the  sale  of  Benj.  West,  for  one  thousand  guineas. 
We  had  liberty  to  copy  any  tJimg^  and  Mr.  Rogers 
liberally  and  kindly  offered  De  Veaux  a  room  up 
stairs,  where  he  could  have  any  picture  removed. 
De  Veaux  painted  no7ie  in  London.  We  were  disap- 
pointed in  finding  such  restrictions  with  regard  to 
copying  in  the  National  Gallery, — nothing  but  water- 
colour  sketches  could  be  made,  so  we  left  for  Paris 
in  October  or  November,  1836.  Having  frequented 
all  the  exhibitions  of  art  in  London, — at  the  new  gal- 
lery, Trafalgar  Square,  the  water-colour  paintings, 
old  pictures,  &c.  &c.,  one  morning  after  breakfast, 
we  separated  in  Pall  Mall,  De  Veaux  went  to  one 
exhibition  and  I  to  another, — not  far  apart, — and  I 
was  mortified  to  learn  what  I  had  missed  seeing;  for 
though  I  saw  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Sutherland 
looking  at  paintings  for  an  hour  or  two  like  those  re- 
ally interested, — it  was  not  like  sitting,  as  De  Veaux 

had  done,  near  by  while  Wellington  and  Wilkie 
4 


26  MEMOIR  OF 

were  talking  of  pictures.  We  made  from  London  a 
litde  excursion  to  Richmond,  Windsor  Casde  park 
and  forest, — got  a  glimpse  of  William  IV.  riding  by 
in  his  plain  carriage,  and  we  or  our  driver  had  a  nod 
from  his  majesty. 

De  Veaux  could  not  be  said  to  have  studied  at  all 
in  England, — unless  the  memoranda  he  made  in  wri- 
ting,— the  careful  looking  into  pictures,  and  an  occa- 
sional pencil  sketch  on  a  card  or  in  a  note  book  could 
be  called  so.  We  had  a  plaster  figure  or  so  at  our 
room,  but  he  painted  none  at  all, — though  we  visited 
pictures  a  great  deal.  He  was  disappointed  in  Rey- 
nolds, or  rather  the  preservation  in  which  he  found 
his  works,  but  was  charmed  with  Hoppner,  and  liked 
him  as  a  model  for  his  style  of  portraiture. — particu- 
larly was  he  pleased  with  the  portrait  of  an  officer,  a 
head  at  Greenwich,  it  being  among  four  side  by  side, 
one  Reynolds,  one  Stuart,  and  one  Romney, — Rey- 
nolds had  faded, — Romney  was  hard, — Stuart  was 
like  life,  but  Hoppner  had  the  best  subject  and  his 
was  the  best  head.     De  Veaux  studied  it  well. 

He  used  to  be  while  in  Europe,  depressed  in  spir- 
its. He  sate  the  picture  of  gloom, — could  not  be 
roused, — took  no  interest  in  objects  of  curiosity  or 
amusement,  with  which  all  Paris  abounded,  and 
wished  to  return  at  once  to  America.  This  was  in 
the  winter  of  '36  and  '37.  He  did  not  wish  to  go 
to  Italy,  if  I  could  find  any  other  company, — said  he 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  27 

would  wait  three  months  for  me,  and  then  in  the 
spring"  or  summer  we  would  sail  ag-ain  from  London. 
I  made  my  tour  throug-h  the  principal  cities  of  Italy 
in  this  limited  time,  and  found  De  Veaux  more  cheer- 
ful on  my  return  to  Paris, — but  at  that  time  still  in- 
tending to  return  with  me.  After  g-oing  to  London 
he  wavered,  and  at  the  wharf  or  vessel,  he  declined 
to  set  down  his  name  when  I  took  a  state-room.  He 
had  enjoyed  the  trip  through  Brussells  and  Antwerp 
highly, — Rubens  delighted  him  in  those  cities. 

He  copied  chiefly  heads  from  Rubens  and  Vandyke 
in  the  Louvre,  and  did  so  with  great  facility,  preserv- 
ing a  general  and  beautiful  resemblance,  only  per- 
haps sometimes  making  the  copy  more  effeminate  as 
well  as  prettier  than  the  original, — this  he  inclined 
always  to  do  in  his  portraits.  He  disliked  to  see  a 
homely  portrait  of  an  original.  In  the  evening  he 
drew  at  the  Life-school  in  Crayon,  and  his  drawings 
were  among  the  most  elegant  of  the  number,  fifty  to 
seventy  in  the  school.  He  painted  but  two  or  three 
portraits  in  Paris, — of  myself,  his  French  teacher  and 
a  friend.  After  the  close  of  the  Louvre  to  prepare 
for  a  modern  exhibition,  Dc  Veaux  and  I  hired  an 
atelier  and  painted  together,  but  he  seemed  to  feel 
the  value  of  drawing  the  human  figure,  and  often 
attended  the  day  Academy  also. 

He  always  spoke  of  Charleston  with  partiality 
and  affection. — allied  to  his  home  feeling  was  an  un- 


28  MEMOIR  OF 

bounded  admiration  of  Washington  Allston.  Upon 
our  second  visit  to  London,  we  had  the  g'ood  fortune 
to  take  lodging's  (througli  the  introduction  of  an  artist 
friend,)  in  the  very  house  where  Sully  and  Allston 
had  previously  had  rooms,  sketches  by  Sully  being  in 
the  house,  and  one  or  two  elegant  things  by  Allston, 
characteristic  of  his  genius. 

De  Veaux  could  not  be  said  to  have  read  a  great 
deal,  but  remembered  the  poetical  parts  of  what  he 
did  read.  He  always  had  an  edition  of  Shakspeare 
in  his  trunk.  In  Paris,  I  recollect  particularly,  his 
reading  to  me  from  Irving's  description  of  Westmin- 
ster Abby,  a  description  which  we  could  both  appre- 
ciate for  its  correctness  and  beauty.  As  an  artist,  the 
fine  study  of  action, — attitude,  expression, — which  the 
stage  afforded,  at  one  time,  attracted  him  a  good  deal. 
Cooper  he  considered  the  model  of  an  actor,  and  hav- 
ing seen  him  first  in  Charleston,  tended  to  continue 
his  partiality.  I  recollect  his  remarking  to  me,  that 
he  had  seen  Cooper  stop  in  the  street,  and  gaze  up 
with  apparent  admiration  at  the  symmetry  of  St.  Mi- 
chael's steeple  in  Charleston, — this  was  often  present 
to  his  fancy,  when  we  were  ascending  spires,  some 
thousands  of  miles  away. 

De  Veaux  set  little  value  on  his  copies  after  they 
were  made,  and  would  give  them  freely  to  any  well 
deserving  friend.  I  recollect  an  amusing  fellow  with 
whom  we  became  acquainted  at  the  Louvre,  who 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  29 

used  to  come  to  see  us  often.  This  fellow's  name  was 
Sharp ; — he  has  an  Irishman,  had  some  humour,  "  a 
good  eye  for  colour,"  but  a  most  ludicrous  lack  of  all 
perception  of  "form," — consequently,  though  he  toned 
a  Titian  browner  than  the  original,  there  was  little 
nature  in  his  portrait  from  life.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  our  acquaintance.  Sharp  was  officiously  atten- 
tive to  De  Veaux,  got  him  to  come  round  to  his  room 
to  paint  a  head  of  a  young  man,  that  was  going  to  sit 
to  Sharp, — so  fine  a  study !  De  Veaux  went, — at  this 
time  he  could  not  speak  French,  scarcely  understood 
a  word,  though  he  afterwards  became  proficient.  He 
wondered  what  excellence  Sharp  saw  in  the  com- 
mon place  young  man  he  was  studying,  but  having 
begun,  he  finished;  when  Sharp  begged  the  portrait 
of  him,  he  admired  the  study  so  much ! !  De  Veaux 
gave  it  of  course,  but  afterwards  heard  indignantly 
that  Sharp  had  sold  the  portrait  to  his  study!  It  was 
a  plan  to  get  a  portrait  by  De  Veaux. 

He  made  a  copy  of  "  Titian^s  Mistress "  from  the 
Louvre  and  of  Correggio's  ^'•Marriage  of  St.  Catha- 
rine.''^ In  the  spring  of  1837,  we  went  to  Brussells, 
Antwerp  and  London,  and  at  the  latter  place  we 
parted.  On  his  return  from  Europe,  I  went  to  New 
York  to  see  him,  and  subsequendy  he  came  to  Phila- 
delphia to  see  me, — after  this  our  correspondence 
declined,  and  did  not  condnue  during  his  last  visit  to 
Europe.     I  regret  this  exceedingly  and  blame  myself 


i^4 


30  MEMOIR  OF 

for  it.  I  had  received  no  notice  of  his  declininj^f  health, 
until  I  saw  his  death  announced  in  a  Charleston  paper. 
I  had  hoped  for  many  happy  hours  in  his  society  in 
my  native  town,  at  my  own  home.  What  you  men- 
tion with  reg-ard  to  his  feeling-s  and  expressions  at 
the  approach  of  death,  gives  me  g-reat  satisfaction — 
the  minutest  particulars  in  relation  to  the  latter  part 
of  his  life,  are  very  interesting-  to  me. 

Very  respectfully  and  sincerely 

Yours. 

While  in  Paris,  DeVeaux  painted  a  fine  copy  of 
"  Vandyke  by  himself,^^  which  he  presented  to  James 
H.  Hammond,  Esq. — a  copy  of  "  Titian^s  Mistress^^^ 
purchased  by  Doctor  Arrott  of  Philadelphia,  and  a 
copy  of  "  The  Marriage  of  St.  Catharine,''  by  Correg"- 
g-io.  This  was  sold  to  the  Hon.  A.  Stevenson,  then 
our  Minister  to  Eng-land.  He  carried  it  to  London, 
where  it  was  g"reatly  admired,  and  Wilkie  told 
Mr.  Stevenson  he  considered  it  the  best  copy  he  had 
ever  seen,  of  a  picture  frequently  copied.  It  also 
attracted  the  notice  of  Landseer,  who  passed  a  high 
encomium  on  its  merits. 

He  kept  no  journal  during  his  residence  in  Paris, 
as  he  subsequently  did  in  Rome,  and  a  few  pencil 
memoranda  in  a  pocket  note  book  are  all  that  he  made. 
From  it  the  following  extract  shews  that  they  were 
intended  merely  to  recall  observations. 


T  vw^  irKX>u^.-J    ^*    /Ci/i/.y- 


JAMES  DE  VEAUX.  31 

"Oct.  11th.  We  reached  Paris  at  11  p.  m.  and  put 

up  at  the  hotel  d'Lille  et  d'Albion  rue  St.  Thomas 
des  Linne.  One  fellow  carried  our  two  trunks,  carpet 
bag's  and  hat  boxes  on  a  fixture  lashed  to  his  back, — 
I  had  seen  a  porter  drop  in  trying  to  lift  one  of  them 
in  Liverpool. 

"Oct.  13.  Made  my  first  visit  to  the  Louvre  to- 
day— entrance — effect  of  the  whole  collection  at  once 
— lisdessness  of  the  visitors  o-enerally,  extravagant 
affectation  of  others, — merits  of  the  numerous  copyists 
— took  a  walk  in  the  Palais  Royal  shops, — statues — 
company — architecture- — whole  effect — table  d'Hote 
— difference  between  the  French  and  En^-lish  taking- 
their  meals — terrace — urns  with  plants — children  and 
nurses — loiterers — water  in  the  centre, — Garden  of 
the  Tuilleries — walks  thirty  yards  wide,  ornamented 
with  numerous  finely  executed  statues — woody  part 
about  five  hundred  yards  off — the  effect  of  it — com- 
pany Sunday  afternoon — neat  dress — beards — women 
— soldiers'  size  compared  with  the  Enghsh — tomb  of 
Maria  Antoinette  and  Louise,  plain  and  elegant — 
Napoleon's  column — triumphal  arch  rich  to  excess, 
the  work  upon  it  correct  and  done  in  the  most  elabo- 
rate style.  Garden  of  plants — birds — beasts  and  rep- 
tiles— embalmed  crocodile — rhinoceros — skeleton  of 
a  whale." 

"Brussells — Hotel  de  Ville — gorgeous  old  Dutch 
Church — interior — statue  of  dying  soldier  of  last  rev- 


32  MEMOIR  OF 

olution — Waterloo — monuments — relics  bought  from 
the  old  lady,  who  gave  us  "good  bye"  in  English — 
next  day  to  the  museum — Prince  of  Orange's  collec- 
tion— Vandyke's  four  full  lengths — Ruben's  hunting 
piece  and  family  group — made  a  few  sketches  from 
Vandyke  and  Rubens." 

"21st.  May.  Arrived  in  Antwerp. — Cathedral — 
Citadel — St.  Jacques; — Ruben's  tomb,  prepared  by 
himself  fifteen  years  before  his  death — a  picture 
placed  over  it  by  him  two  years  before  he  died — 
pictures  by  Vandyke  in  the  same  place — dead  Christ 
— and  two  profiles  on  the  same  canvass.  Cathedral 
five  hundred  English  feet  in  height — went  to  the 
top,  the  mostgorgeous  steeple  in  the  world — saw 
Ireland  in  the  distance." 

Here  he  seems  to  have  recorded  his  observations 
more  particularly,  where,  he  was  deeply  impressed. 

"  At  St.  Jacques,  the  dead  figure  of  Christ  by  Van- 
dyke I  prefer  to  all  the  other  dead  Christs  I  have 
ever  seen — there  is  but  little  in  it,  but  all  perfect — 
the  flesh,  white  drapery,  solemn  sky,  are  in  most 
perfect  harmony; — two  heads  by  him  in  the  same 
church  in  one  canvass,  profiles — I  think  two  of  his 
best.  At  Mount  Calvary  or  Church  of  St.  Luke,  the 
" Christ  Scourged"  painted  by  Rubens,  is  my  favorite 
— the  figure  of  the  Saviour  is  just  as  we  expect  to 
find  it — enduring  the  whip  without  a  murmer — the 
figure  on  the  left  is  a  little  strained  in  posture,  the 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  33 

rig"ht  leg",  rather  affectedly  disposed ;  but  one  on  the 
right  with  one  foot  braced  ag-ainst  the  leg*  of  Christ, 
is  bursting"  with  hatred  and  throws  his  whole  force 
into  each  blow— the  colour  is  g"lowing.  There  are 
several  others  here  by  Rubens,  very  excellent. 

"  At  the  Church  of  aS'^.  Andre  a  picture  by  Rubens 
of  "  The  Flig-ht  into  Eg-ypt "  is  g-ood — Christ  between 
Joseph  and  his  mother,  who  looks  tenderly  upon  him 
— one  of  Rubens's  prettiest  female  faces; — the  three 
figures  pleased  me  for  their  elegance,  they  are 
remarkably  so  for  this  master. 

"At  St.  Augustine^  a  small  whole  length  figure 
clothed  in  purple  silk,  with  a  mantle  of  gold,  delight- 
ed me  for  its  drawing  and  colour — by  Vandyke — 
"The  extacy  of  St.  Augustine,"  by  the  same,  is  a 
beautiful  production ;  the  torse  of  the  saint  forms  the 
chief  or  centre  light  and  glitters  in  its  place — the 
angels  above  (particularly  the  one  floating  forward) 
are  most  beautifully  drawn  and  coloured.  The  altar 
piece  at  this  church  by  Rubens,  is  not  as  fresh  as  I 
expected  to  find  it:  the  figure  of  St.  Sebastian  in 
the  foreground  is  carefully  drawn  and  the  colouring 
real  flesh,  the  Virgin,  Christ,  St.  John,  and  angels 
are  pure  enough,  but  the  other  parts  of  the  picture 
look  dingy  or  mouldy,  and  cannot  be  viewed  with 
any  degree  of  pleasure — the  subject  is  the  marriage 
of  St.  Catharine. 

"At  the   Church  of  the   Capuchins,  St,  Anfmne 
5 


34  MEMOIR  OF 

de  Padone,  are  two  beautiful  specimens  of  art — St. 
Francis  receiving-  Christ  from  the  hands  of  his  mo- 
ther, by  Rubens — and  the  dead  Christ  resting-  on  the 
knees  of  the  Virgin — St.  Madehne  and  two  angels 
weeping-,  by  Vandyke. 

Rabens's  is  simple,  well  drawn,  boldly  and  as  har- 
moniously coloured  as  any  thing-  I  have  seen; — it 
appears  to  have  been  struck  off  in  one  of  his  happy 
moods — no  touch  appears  to  have  been  repeated  a 
second  time — the  colouring-  of  Christ  and  the  two 
principal  angels  is  charming-,  and  the  drapery  of  the 
Saint  and  Virgin  as  true  as  possible. 

Vandyke^s  body  of  Christ  is  equal  to  the  one  at  St. 
Jacques — the  legs  and  arms  are  too  leaden  however, 
— the  head  of  St.  Madeline  is  more  expressive  of 
grief  and  more  true  in  colour  than  any  I  have  seen 
elsewhere — the  angels  are  very  fine.  This  picture 
is  harmonious,  but  the  anxiety  of  the  painter  to  pro- 
duce solemnity  and  gloom  has  carried  him  too  far 
and  the  general  appearance  is  a  little  heavy — there 
is  too  much  black — the  dress  of  the  Saint,  the  sky,  the 
wings  of  the  angels,  the  extremities  of  the  Saviour, 
making  altogether  too  much  darkness,  but  the  body 
of  Christ  is  the  more  brilliant  for  it,  and  that  perhaps 
was  the  chief  object  of  the  painter. 

St.  Jacques  again — Rubens's  tomb — sat  in  his  chair. 
The  picture  over  his  tomb  placed  there  by  himself, 
exceeds  every  thing  of  the  same  compass  for  colour 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  35 

I  ever  saw, — nothing"  is  extravag-ant,  he  seems  to 
have  commenced  with  the  whole  force  of  his  palette 
upon  the  sun  scorched  figure  of  time  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  painted  all  his  other  figures  up  to  it, — 
the  children  and  female  are  very  fair,  but  not  cold ; 
his  second  wife  is  the  prettiest  in  this  picture— the 
sky,  architecture  draperies,  are  all  splendid.  Time 
and  Love  in  the  foreground  and  the  head  above 
named  are  my  favourite  spots— the  red  drapery  of 
the  old  man  in  the  centre  I  think  richer  than  Titian. 

"There  are  pictures  here  by  Thyssens,  very  like 
Vandyke,  the  assumption  of  the  Virgin  and  another 
very  like  his  style." 

"  Malines  or  Mecldin.  Christ  on  the  Cross  by  Van- 
dyke, at  the  Cathedral  or  Church  of  St.  Rombaud, — 
the  Acbration  of  the  Mag% — St.  John  Baptist  in  the 
desert, — St.  John  Evangelist  in  the  isle  of  Patmos, — 
ditto  in  boiling  oil — and  the  decollation  of  John  Bap- 
tist. The  first  named  is  the  largest  picture  by  Van- 
dyke I  have  seen,  and  as  it  is  the  most  diflficult  to 
manage,  and  so  entirely  successful,  I  must  call  it  the 
best  I  have  seen, — we  find  fine  drawing,  delicate 
pencilling  and  as  far  as  the  gloomy  atmosphere  per- 
mits, splendid  colouring, — the  figure  of  the  thief  on 
Christ's  left  is  peculiarly  lustrous, — Christ  well  drawn 
and  finely  painted, — in  the  foreground  is  the  mother 
clothed  in  black, — at  her  right  side  kneeling  and 
clinging  to  the  cross  is  Mary,— face  beautiful— dress 


I 


36  MEMOIR  OP 

dull  pink — over  the  mother's  left  is  seen  St.  John, 
— his  face  red  with  weeping-  and  altog-ether  too  vul- 
gar— two  figures,  head  and  bust  only  seen  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross  looking-  up  at  the  Saviour,  carry  the  g-roup 
off; — on  the  rig-ht  of  the  picture  in  the  foreg-round,  is 
a  larg-e  fig-ure  in  light  drapery  bending-  forward,  and 
directing-  the  attention  of  the  soldier,  who  sits  well 
poised  upon  his  horse,  to  the  wound  in  the  side  of 
Christ,  which  he  seems  to  boast  of  having-  inflicted 
with  the  spear  in  his  rig-ht  hand, — the  thief  on  the 
right  is  somewhat  in  advance  of  Christ.  The  hlack 
of  the  Virg-in's  dress  balances  the  armour  and  dark 
man  formed  by  the  body  of  the  rig"ht  hand  thief, — the 
red  of  John  is  found  on  the  soldier  on  horseback, — 
Mary's ^inA:  ov purple  is  a  harmonizer  between  them; 
the  fig-ure  of  the  left  thief  is  painted  ag-ainst  a  light 
spot  of  sky, — this  picture  wants  unity.  Vandyke 
seemed  afraid  of  the  effect  of  many  figures  disturbing 
repose,  and  he  has  too  few, — they  are  much  detached 
however, — the  faults  are  few,  the  merits  countless; — 
for  the  subject,  I  think  it  far  more  imposing  than  Ru- 
bens's  in  the  Museum  at  Antwerp,  which  is  more 
powerful  in  colour,  and  light  and  shade,  but  lacks  the 
solemnity  and  gloom  of  the  other.  "Adoration  of  the 
Magi,"  is  more  careful  in  drawing  and  fully  equal  in 
colour  to  most  of  Rubens's.  The  design  is  superior  to 
his  general  works, — the  playfulness  of  the  Christ  with 
the  shrinking  modesty  of  the  Virgin,  cannot  be  sur- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  37 

passed— this  is  my  favourite  virgin— the  light  is  thrown 
from  the  Saviour's  person,  and  forms  consequendy  a 
round  or  ball  of  lig-ht— as  a  candle  or  any  other 
sing-le  bright  object  would,  confined  within  a  given 
space — the  figures  throughout  are  so  arranged  as  to 
repeat  with  their  heads  chiefly  this  same  form, — the 
figure  at  the  top  of  the  picture  with  the  torch  gives  a 
pyramidal  form  to  the  whole  group  of  light  as  well  as 
shadow,— it  is  a  charming  picture  as  need  be  seen, — 
the  attire  of  the  virgin  is  very  simple,— a  fine  blue 
mantle  lined  with  a  colour  composed  of  white,  black, 
and  a  glaze  of  lake,— the  dress  black  and  white, 
almost  white,  warmed  with  a  little  red, — the  sleeve 
from  the  middle  of  the  arm  to  the  wrist  is  pink, — the 
head  of  the  old  man  next  the  Saviour  offering  the  gold 
cup, — the  one  bearing  the  incense  pot,  and  the  moor 
in  green  with  the  white  turban,  are  splendid  points 
for  colour.  A  John  baptizing  Christ  is  well  design- 
ed,— both  the  figures  are  graceful  except  in  the  legs, 
in  the  drawing  of  which  Rubens  shewed  his  weak- 
ness  too  frequently,— the  quiet  bend  of  the  Saviour 
and  slight  timidity  of  John  are  happily  hit  off,— the 
white  drapery  of  Christ  is  the  centre  Hght  and  beau- 
tifully painted,— the  white  Dove  descending  in  a 
burst  of  light  repeats  it; — the  head  of  Christ  is  hand- 
some,— the  foliage  and  sky  lovely. 

"  The  decollation  of  St.  John^^  is  a  splendid  piece 
of  Chiaro-oscuro, — the  headless  body  could  not  have 

448Si3 


38  MEMOIR  OF 

been  in  a  more  difficult  posture  to  draw,  and  it  is 
executed  as  well  as  any  thing-  of  Raphael's  I  know 
in  the  Louvre. 

'■'■John  the  Evangelist  in  the  isle  of  Patmos^^^  is  rich- 
ly painted, — the  pink  dress — red  robe — rocks,  eagle, 
sky  and  visions  in  the  heavens,  all  fine, — the  head 
has  no  expression  that  I  could  make  any  thing-  of, 
and  ug-ly  withal, — the  ground  and  leaves  beneath 
him  I  must  try  and  remember  when  called  for.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  panel,  a  ''St.  John  cast  into 
boiling  oil,"  is  splendidly  executed  every  way,  the 
drawing  of  the  principal  figure  is  perfect,  the  execu- 
tioners good  also,  and  the  whole  effect  in  Rubens's 
best  manner.  The  last  four  pictures  I  have  men- 
tioned, are  at  St.  Jeanus  Church,  at  Malines,  where  it 
is  said  Rubens  directed  his  friends  to  go  when  they 
wanted  to  see  his  finest  works.  At  Notre  Dame.,  in 
the  same  city,  are  some  worth  special  notice.  "  The 
draught  ofjishes,^^ — this  for  splendor  of  colour  pleases 
me, — the  back  of  the  fisherman  in  the  centre  of  the 
picture,  hailing  his  brother  in  the  distance  to  demand 
assistance,  is  perfect, — the  figure  stooping  in  the  boat 
is  very  little  inferior  if  any, — Christ  is  finely  and  even 
delicately  drawn, — the  expression  of  thankfulness 
upon  the  face  of  the  old  man  whom  he  addresses  is 
entire, — the  figure  on  the  right  of  the  picture  repeats 
the  red  of  Christ,  is  well  in  colour,  but  the  attempt  to 
foreshorten  it  makes  it  look  too  short. 


JAMES   DE    VEAUX.  39 

"  Tobit  and  the  Angel,^^  on  the  left,  is  sweetly  de- 
sig^ned,  simple  and  natural,  the  action  of  both  easy 
and  the  fish  looks  slippery.  Peter  on  the  right  side 
taking"  the  money  from  the  fish,  is  not  as  striking"  as 
the  others, — too  much  crowded.  St.  Peter,  whole 
leng"th  on  the  back,  looks  too  much  like  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's  Count  Ugolino, — the  St.  Andrew  on  the 
river  of  Tobit  and  the  Ang"el,  is  much  superior, — he 
rests  upon  his  cross,  (three  quarters  to  you)  with  one 
hand  behind  him  with  a  fish  in  it  attached  by  a  cord. 

''At  Antwerp,  in  the  Cathedral,  is  Rubens's  De- 
scent from  the  Cross^  so  deservedly  praised.  In  the 
same  church  are  three  beautiful  small  works  by  him ; 
the  resurrection^ — the  figure  of  Christ,  very  lig-ht  and 
well  painted, — a  fig"ure  on  a  volet,  at  the  right  of  it 
representing"  St.  John,  and  on  the  left  a  fig"ure  of  the 
Virg"in  walking"  with  a  palm  leaf  in  her  right  hand, 
and  her  left  holding"  her  drapery  aside— the  face 
three  quarter  view,  the  body  side  view — the  drapery 
purple  with  black  mande,  is  beautifully  painted, — 
St.  John's  right  arm  is  akimbo,  the  left  elevated  as  if 
surprised  at  some  unexpected  vision.  TJie  assumption 
of  the  Virgin,  a  large  picture  over  the  grand  altar,  is 
one  of  Rubens's  best  works, — the  group  of  angels 
surrounding  her  are  no  where  surpassed  to  my 
knowledge — and  the  group  of  men  and  women  about 
the  tomb,  present  the  greatest  varieties  of  posture 
and  all  happily  expressed— the  large   figure  in  the 


40  MEMOIR  OF 

foreground  of  the  woman  in  pink  is  exquisitely  co- 
loured, and  the  old  man  also  is  equally  as  good — the 
ang-el  to  the  right  of  the  virgin,  flying  into  the  pic- 
ture, is  my  favourite  among  all  the  angels  I  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing.  There  is  a  large  picture 
hanging  opposite  to  the  Descent  from  the  Cross,  the 
dimensions  the  same  with  two  volets  also — the  first 
after  his  return  from  Italy,  I  could  only  think,  not 
shocking.  The  Descent  from  the  Cross  deserves  all 
the  praise  it  ever  received  even  from  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds."         *****         *^ 

These  notes  of  observations  of  works  of  the  Flem- 
ish School  which  enlisted  his  feelings  and  attention, 
are  all  that  exist  of  his  first  visit  to  Europe.  Among 
his  letters  to  his  friends  and  in  his  journal  kept  in 
Venice  and  Rome,  on  his  return  from  the  United 
States,  will  be  found  others  of  interest  relating  to 
ancient  and  modern  art  in  Italy.  After  parting  with 
his  friend  Mifflin  in  London,  he  returned  to  Paris, 
where  he  remained  pursuing  his  studies  in  the  Life- 
school  and  copying  in  the  Louvre  until  the  spring  of 
1838.  A  memorandum  on  a  slip  of  paper  mentions 
the  date  of  his  leaving  France. 

''Left  Havre  9th  May,  1838,  and  after  a  dehghtful 
voyage  of  twenty-seven  days,  arrived  at  New  York. 
Here  is  an  end  to  my  voyage  and  absence  of  twenty- 
one  months,  and  though  delighted  to  see  my  native 
land,  yet  I  confess  I  am  sighing  after  that  I  have  left 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  41 

behind  me.  God  grant  that  I  may  g"o  eastward  once 
more  before  I  die!  Ship  Albany,  June  6th,  1838, 
waiting"  at  quarantine  for  the  steamboat  to  take  us 
up." 

Soon  after  De  Veaux's  arrival  in  N.  York,  (where 
he  spent  that  summer,)  he  painted  at  Mr.  Sheg^ogue's 
rooms  a  fine  portrait  of  his  friend  Col.  John  L.  Man- 
ning", of  South  Carolina,  and  was  invited  by  him  to 
his  residence  in  Clarendon,  to  take  the  likenesses  of 
several  of  his  family.  Here  an  acquaintance  formed 
in  Camden  with  this  respected  and  polished  g"entle- 
man,  ripened  into  that  deep  friendship  and  devo- 
ted attachment  which  subsequently  existed  between 
them.  The  g"entlemanly  urbanity,  the  ease  and  affa- 
biHty  of  his  manners,  the  good  humor  and  g-entleness 
of  disposition  which  were  always  characteristic  of 
him  in  the  family  circle,  endeared  him  to  all.  The 
spirit  of  his  conversation,  the  liberality  of  his  senti- 
ments, and  his  self-sacrificing"  g-enerosity  on  all 
occasions,  in  addition  to  the  possession  of  a  hig"h 
order  of  talents,  caused  all  who  knew  him  to  respect 
him. 

In  Clarendon  he  remained  until  the  winter  of  1839, 
fully  occupied,  and  turning"  off  from  his  easel  many 
of  his  best  portraits,  enjoying"  himself  in  a  delightful 
society,  which  appreciated  him  highly,  and  having 
every  thing  to  encourage  him  in  the  prospects  of  his 
profession.     Having  completed  his  engagements,  he 


) 


42  MEMOIR    OP 

returned  to  Columbia,  and  spent  the  v/inter  and  spring 
in  discharging-  some  obhgations  there.  The  summer 
of  1840  was  passed  chiefly  in  Abingdon,  Va.,  where 
he  was  invited  to  paint  portraits  for  the  family  of  the 
late  General  Preston.  He  made  a  short  visit  to  New 
York,  and  returned  to  Columbia  in  November.  He 
was  in  New  York  during  the  great  excitement  of 
pohtical  parties  in  the  severe  contest  of  that  fall,  but 
took  htde  or  no  interest  in  it.  To  a  friend  he  writes 
at  that  time: 

"I  am  sorry  that  my  indifference  to  poHtics  is  so 
incurable,  that  I  cannot  participate  in  the  stirring 
times  we  have  had,  and  continue  to  have  here, — my 
leaning  is  towards  your  opponents,  (whigs,)  but  so 
slight  at  this  particular  time  is  my  preference,  that 
the  influence  of  any  gentle  delicate  fair  one  could 
throw  me  on  either  side !  How  the  storm  howls  in 
the  next  street  at  this  moment! — the  thunder  of  some 
political  orator,  who  with  "his  throat  of  brass  and 
adamantine  lungs,"  has  been  for  two  hours  past 
breathing  destruction  from  a  whig-wam,  (ahas  log 
cabin,)  has  just  ceased,  and  now  five  or  ten  thousand 
men  are  chanting  the  chorus  of  a  Tippecanoe  song! 
Hallo,  here  goes  an  equally  great  number  of  locos, — 
from  morn  to  night  these  fellows  are  en  route, — music 
is  cheap, — here  is  a  band  of  thirty  musicians, — and 
sJioes  ought  to  be  also,  for  most  assuredly  these  are 
"times  that  try  men's  soles!" 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  43 

I  am  disposed  to  g-ive  frequent  and  extended  ex- 
tracts from  the  letters  of  De  Veaux,  which  were 
usually  written  in  his  moments  of  excitement  while 
free  from  the  depression  which  so  often  hung  a 
lurid  cloud  over  the  bright  light  that  beamed  from 
his  "mind's  eye."  They  are  spirited  and  sketchy, 
full  of  sportive  allusions  and  playful  imagery  — 
thrown  off  currente  calamo  to  his  confidential  friends 
— many  of  them  abounding  with  sparkling  thoughts 
and  beautiful  ideas.  For  one  who  had  so  few  oppor- 
tunities, they  are  fair  specimens  of  unaffected  and 
easy  epistolary  compositions. 

To at  White  Salphur  Springs. 

"  Whence  arises  such  studied  neglect  of  one  of 
Nature's  intelligencies?  Week  after  week,  with 
increasing  anxiety,  have  I  looked  for  a  concoction 
from  thy  prolific  noddle — wherefore  comes  it  not? 
Can  it  be  that  the  sulphureous  vapours,  instead  of 
cleansing  thy  brain  of  its  few  aberrations,  hath  only 
increased  its  muddlings  7  The  gods  forbid !  In- 
stantly put  pen  to  paper  and  let  me  decide — if  my 
terrible  anticipations  are  correct,  if  I  find  you  are 
wandering  'mongst  those  that  are  in  darkness,  I'll 
mourn  like  Rachel  (only  more  so) — but  if  you  are 
"  still  in  the  light  as  I  am  in  the  light,"  I'll  e'en 
rejoice  like  the  father  of  the  prodigal  son  ! 


< 


) 


44  MEMOIR    OP 

"  If  I  can  be  jovial  and  sportive,  surely  you  can 
afford  it— you  playing-  at  the  springs,  and  I  working- 
at  the  knobs  (heads.) 

"'Retreat  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine,' 
saith  the  poet,  and  I  echo  it.  I  must  work  hard  to 
make  up  for  lost  years,  and  reserve  for  distant  hope 
the  blest  idea  of  retirement  and  luxurious  ease,  for 
a  time  when  I  will  care  no  long-er  for  it — when  the 
verdure  and  the  sunshine  will  be  g-one  from  every 
scene — when  no  locality  will  please,  and  imndering 
will  become  a  fixed  restlessness,  '  a  mortal  malady  of 
mind ' — but  hang-  it,  this  is  too  sad . 

"  'Tis  but  rarely  that  a  journal  falls  into  these 
paint-stamed  hands  of  mine — but  this  morning-,  by 
accident,  I  perused  one — you  may  imag-ine  me  (I 
can't  picture  it)  reading*  an  executive  announcement 
dubbing-  you  Lieut.  Colonel!  'Old  have  I  grown, 
and  from  my  weary  bones,  honor  is  almost  cudgell'd,' 
yet  have  I  struggled  all  my  youth  through,  without 
finding  that  which  has  found  you  unsought.  Verily, 
'  some  are  born  great,  and  some  have  greatness 
thrust  upon  them,' — would  that  I  may  some  day 
encounter  it ! 

"  'I  have  professed  me  thy  friend,  and  I  confess 
me  knit  to  thy  deserving  with  cables  of  perdurable 
toughness,' — these  professions  were  made  to  you 
in  your  civil  capacity,  should  I  not  reiterate  them 
now  that  your  worship  is  '  armed  and  accoutred '  a 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  45 

regular  cannon-mouth  looking-  warrior  1  '  Thou  hast 
a  jg-rim  appearance,  and  thy  face  has  a  command 
in't,'  so  you'll  excuse  my  fears,  and  deal  mercifully 
with  the  great  undubbed. 

"  I  have  no  news  to  fill  you  with  '  as  pigeons 
feed  their  young' — but  with  looks  and  language  as 
stern  as  any  Colonel,  I  demand  your  reason  for  ne- 
glecting me  during  your  absence  from  this  '  httle 
spot  of  earth.'  If  nothing  else  will  suffice  to  recall 
one,  can't  the  '  sweet  memory'  of  our  having  to- 
gether watched  the  nimble  trout,  cutting  with  pliant 
oars  the  silver  stream,  or  having  sate  beneath  the 
spreading  sycamore,  glaring  with  dire  intent  on  the 
opposite  hills  in  hope  of  deer,  and  anon  twisting  our 
happy  thoughts  into  undying  numbers ! — can  none  of 
these  things  move  you  1 — then  surely  you  have  gain- 
ed the  twenty  pounds  I  hear  of,  and  are  not  easily 
moved.  The  hunting  season  is  passed,  and  now  the 
trout  must  keep  dark,  unless  they  are  tired  of  life. 
We  are  ready,  and  must  lessen  the  number  of  fish — 
they  are  too  cruel  to  live — do  you  know  what  they 
do  for  grub  7 — why  the  great  ones  eat  up  the  little 
ones !  we  are  such  clever  philanthropists,  we  can't 
stand  that,  so  W.  and  J.   and  I  must   be  'up  and 

at      ^ f^Yfi    '"  ^  ^  T^  *  ^ 

De  Veaux  continued  to  paint  in  Columbia,  until  the 
summer  of  1841.     Since  his  return  from  Europe,  his 


) 


46  MEMOIR  OP 

improvement  being"  marked,  he  received  $100  for  his 
portraits,  and  had  full  occupation.  On  reference  to 
a  note  book  of  the  portraits  painted  during*  the  inter- 
val between  his  first  and  second  visits  to  Europe,  it 
appears  that  he  finished  forty-three.* 

With  the  g"enerous  object  of  contributing*  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  fine  artistic  skill  with  which  nature 
had  endowed  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  and  to  give 
to  his  ardent  spirit,  the  opportunities  it  sighed  for, 
Mrs.  Gen.  Hampton,  Col.  Wade  Hampton,  John  L. 
Manning*,  Esq.,  and  John  S.  Preston,  Esq.,  made  ar- 
rang-ements  with  him  to  proceed  to  Italy,  to  make 
copies  for  them  of  such  works  of  the  old  masters  as 
he  might  select. 

The  interest  which  they  took  in  his  advancement 
was  based  on  the  undoubted  indications  of  genius 
which  he  exhibited,  and  his  worthy  personal  quali- 
ties ;  and  they  all  feel  deeply  the  loss  to  the  State 
and  to  the  arts  of  their  esteemed  protege.  The  few 
works  he  was  permitted  by  a  wise  Providence  to 
achieve,  give  an  earnest  of  what  he  would  have  done 
had  his  valuable  life  been  spared.  On  the  arrival  in 
this  country  of  his  first  original  composition,  '^  Christ 
administered  to  by  Angels,^^  a  distinguished  artist,  of 
fine  taste  and  hberal  feelings,  who  knew  well  his 
abilities,  observed  to  the  owner  of  that  painting,  "  if 


*  From  his  commencement  in  Columbia,  in  1832,  to  his  last  visit  to  Europe, 
he  painted  240  portraits. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  47 

De  Veaux  improves  as  much  in  the  next  two  years 
as  he  has  during  the  last  two,  he  will  be  equal  to  any 
living  artist." 

In  August,  1841,  he  left  Columbia  for  the  last  time, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  at  parting,  and  melancholy 
forebodings  that  he  was  never  to  return  to  it.  Such 
feelings  were  natural  at  separating  himself  from  a 
circle  of  intimate  friends,  who  valued  him  as  an  art- 
ist, and  loved  him  as  a  man, — at  leaving  the  abode 
of  many  years,  the  scene  of  his  early  labours,  his 
progressive  improvement,  and  his  well  earned  suc- 
cess ; — but  little  did  those  friends  anticipate  the  short 
career  of  youth  and  strength,  that  gave  a  promise  of 
wearing  to  a  good  old  age,  or  of  genius  and  acquire- 
ment that  entitled  them  to  hope  for  honors  and  dis- 
tinctions as  life  advanced  !     How  sad  the  reflection ! 

He  sailed  from  New  York  in  September,  and  land- 
ed in  Liverpool,  whence  he  soon  departed  for  Paris. 
For  his  subsequent  movements  and  history,  all  must 
now  be  derived  from  his  own  letters,  his  journal  of 
residence  in  Rome  and  Venice,  and  the  letters  of  his 
friends,  Mr.  Rossiter  and  Mr.  Chambers.  I  prefer  to 
give  the  extracts  from  his  letters  as  they  were  writ- 
ten, in  preference  to  incorporating  the  information 
they  contain  in  his  narrative.  Some  of  them,  per- 
haps, might  have  been  better  omitted,  but  the  design 
of  these  pages  is  to  give  a  fair  picture  of  the  charac- 
ter and  acquirements  of  their  subject. 


48  MEMOIR  OF 


J D to 


''Paris,  Nov.  15,  1841. 

As  no  excuse  will  suffice  for  my  shameful  silence, 
passons.  Two  months  and  a  half  have  elapsed  since 
I  sailed  from  New  York.  Twenty-six  days  we  were 
sur  mer — ten  days  between  Liverpool  and  Paris, 
(very  leisurely,  n'est  ce  pas'?)  and  here  at  Paris, 
in  the  icorld^  more  than  one  month,  sketching-  and 
studying-  Italian,  to  make  my  journey  jRome-wsird — 
(heavenward  1) — more  pleasant.  In  three  days  I 
start,  and  my  next  scrawl  shall  be  from  Florence, 
and  brimful  of  news. 

My  voyage  was  a  delig-htful  one — had  the  same 
captain  I  sailed  with  before,  and  being-  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, I  was  head  man  among-  the  male  popula- 
tion of  our  floating  city,  and  courted  by  the  ladies  for 
my  standing  with  the  captain.  We  had  on  board  a 
Boston  '  gal,'  '  going  ahead '  to  be  married.  The 
first  week  of  our  voyage,  being  struck  with  the  un- 
assuming modesty  of  manner,  and  the  frankness,  and 
candor  and  honesty  that  beams  so  continually  from 
the  visage  of  your  friend,  she  approached  me  one 
night,  when  the  moon  was  bright,  and  the  sea  still, 
and  made  me  the  depository  of  her  secret  love — the 
'  gal'  was  affected ! !  One  year  ago,  returning  home 
from  Europe,  she  became  enamoured  of  a  chap,  and 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  49 

he  of  her — they  became  eng-aged — he  returned  to 
Eng-land,  to  establish  himself,  and  she  has  come  out 
now,  with  dresses,  jewellery,  cake,  etc.,  all  ready 
for  the  appointment.  What  a  journey  for  a  young 
woman  !  que  pensez  volis  ?  I  saw  the  cake,  etc., 
passed  through  the  Custom  House  ! 

Paris  is  just  where  it  was,  and  is  as  much  loved 
as  ever ; — it  is  the  place  for  a  Painter  after  all,  and 
if,  during-  my  stay  abroad,  I  have  an  offer  or  propo- 
sals of  any  sort  that  will  facilitate  my  success,  I  will 
most  assuredly  remain  here.  There  is  a  luxury  in 
associating  with  the  young  and  talented  enthusiasts 
of  this  country,  that  makes  one  young  again,  and 
chimes  more  with  my  temperament,  than  the  cold 
calculating  grey  looking  spirits  of  our  northern  cities 
— and  unfortunately  those  are  the  only  points  in  our 
country  where  a  Painter  can  live.  Healy  has  painted 
two  pictures  of  Soult,  and  a  head  of  the  King — his 
picture  of  Guizot  is  his  best,  and  will  be  sent  soon 
to  Washington.  Since  he  painted  the  King,  Col. 
Thorne  has  advanced  towards  him,  and  he  is  paint- 
ing full  lengths  for  him.  I  had  occasion  to  visit 
Thome's  Hotel  with  Healy,  to  choose  parts  of  it  for 
some  of  the  back-grounds  of  the  pictures — the  family 
is  at  their  country  chateau,  the  hotel  in  the  city  he 
rents  from  Louis  Philippe's  sister, — 'tis  a  splendid 
palace — he  must  have  Aster's  purse,  or  its  equal,  at 

command. 
7 


50  MEMOIR  OF 

Write  to  me  at  Florence.  I  am  passing  along  a 
smooth  and  pleasant  road,  many  thanks  to  my  friends, 
and  yourself  in  the  bargain.     I  shall  write  them  all 

from  Florence  ;  remember  me  to  all,  and  tell I 

saw  a  httle  grisette  picking  her  ear  with  a  shoe-ma- 
ker's awl^  and  I  struck  up  his  favorite  air, 

"  'Twere  vain  to  tell  thee  all  I  feel"  — . 

What  a  pity  she  lost  the  pun — you  shan't  escape  it, 

any  how." 

J D to . 


I 


"Florence,  Dec.  24,  1841. 

My  Dear  Friend : 

To  express  to  you  my  shame  and  mortification  at 
the  long  silence  I  have  kept,  is  utterly  impossible ; — 
fifty  times  I  have  seated  my  dull  carcase  and  essayed 
with  might  and  main  to  think  in  a  strain  that  would 
be  acceptable  to  you,  but  always  fruitlessly.  De- 
spairing of  ever  being  better  fitted  to  perform,  (for 
I  assure  you  that  thoughts  of  the  distance  that  divides 
me  from  true  friends,  the  time,  and  changes  that  must 
in  course  occur,  and  the  thousand  pleasing  recollec- 
tions of  past  days  that  crowd  upon  me,  keep  me  sad- 
dened and  dispirited.)  I  am  resolved  to  appear  now 
before  each  of  my  friends,  and  knowing  your  lenien- 
cy, choose  to  make  my  debut  before  you. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  51 

I'll  not  treat  of  my  '  various  accidents  by  flood  and 
field/  that  is  a  treat  in  reserve  for  a  future  occasion. 
Let  this  suffice,  that  leaving-  New  York  the  1st  Sept., 
I  landed  at  Liverpool  on  the  26th,  and  pursued  '  the 
even  tenor  of  my  way'  thence  to  London,  Dover, 
Boulog-ne  and  Paris, — halting-  of  course  at  each  Korld 
to  draw — breath — not  pictures.  At  Paris  I  remained 
six  or  seven  weeks,  sketching-  at  the  Louvre,  and 
studying  Italian.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  I  flung" 
myself  into  a  French  '  dilig-ence,^  g-ave  the  word 
'  g-o,'  and  during-  ten  days  and  nig'hts  was  continu- 
ally en  route ;  and  here  have  I  been  in  old  Florence 
nearly  a  month,  painting-  at  the  Gallery  the  six  hours, 
drawing-  at  nig-ht  from  the  living-  model,  and  the  rest 
of  the  time  rambling-  about  among  the  old  churches, 
palaces,  prisons,  g-ardens,  etc.  etc.  Oh!  pack  your 
trunk  and  leave  the  sand-hills  for  a  season — a  walk 
along  the  Arno,  or  a  peep  at  the  frescoes  in  old  Santa 
Croce,  is  worth  the  jaunt ; — besides — fruit  season  is 
in,  and  always  is,  and  how  you  would  enjoy  the  juice 
of  the  grape  !  Though  I  am  among  the  marvels 
(marbles  7)  of  the  earth,  and  in  the  world's  garden, 
let  me  not  refuse  to  France  its  praise.  I  love  its  smi- 
ling enthusiastic  populace,  its  good  and  wise  citizen 
king,  its  gorgeous  restaurants  and  splendid  caffe — 
oh,  don't  I  ? — above  all  its  men  of  mind — the  g-reat 
men  in  art  and  science  are  there — and  I  am  not  sure 
that  if  Vernet,  and  Conder,  and  Coignet,  had  lived 


I 


\ 


52  MEMOIR    OF 

before  Angelo,  and  Raphael,  and  Veronese,  that  they 
would  not  be  the  idols,  and  with  much  more  of  rea- 
son. At  any  rate,  I  left  it,  Paris — the  world — with 
a  heavy  heart  and  moistened  lids,  and  trusting"  to  the 

tender  mercies  of  a  French  coach,  was  drawn  and 
quartered  in  Italy. 

'Italia!  oh  Italia!  thou  hast  the  fatal  g-ift  of  beau- 
ty,'— it  is  an    easy  task   for  young-   g^entlemen    and 
ladies  of  capabilities,  to  record  in  their  familiar  epis- 
des  and  private  tour  books,  long"  dissertations,  (after 
a  whole  week's  residence,)  upon  thy  literature,  thine 
arts  and  thy  manners,  but  my  inexperience  and  ig-- 
norance  forbids  me  to  venture  upon   so  delicate  a 
subject,  and  so  I  pass  on  to  more  personal  matters. 
To  attempt  to  tell  you  about  the  pictures  and  sta- 
tues here,  would  only  be  to  repeat  the  worn-out  slang* 
of   connoisseurs,   amateurs    and    painters;  'superb!' 
'  magnificent! !'  '  divine  ! ! !'  form  the  only  vocabulary 
that  can  express  the  impressions  made  by  the  sigfht 
of  the  works,  and  they,  by  their  familiarity,  have  lost 
their  force.     I'll  name  a  few  of  these,  and  leave  you 
to  judg-e  of  my  delig-ht  in  living"  among-st  such  crea- 
tions— Raphael's  ^Madonna  del  Seggiola '  and  '  For- 
narina,^  and  'St.  John  in  the    Wilderness ' — '  Titian's 
Belle,^   and  a  score  of  other  Jiner  things  by  him — 
^The    Venus  de  Medici,'  'the  goddess  that  loves  in 
stone' — Michael  Angelo's  statues  of  Bacchus,  David, 
&c.  &c. — but  I'll  not  consume  paper  in  recounting 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  53 

more  ; — one  thing- 1  am  oblig-ed  to  lament  most  sadly, 
is  the  unfitness  of  the  finest  pictures  for  our  country 
—those  that  in  the  copying-  would  be  most  service- 
able to  me,  are  totally  unsuitable  for  parlor  walls. 
However,  in  the  crowd  of  good  things,  I  shall  be 
able  to  find  enough  of  the  proper  character  for  home 
consumption.  The  difficulties  here  are  very  great — 
in  Paris,  as  many  as  can  get  around  a  picture  are 
permitted  to  copy,  and  one  permit  serves  for  a  year, 
besides  which  you  may  be  engaged  on  fifty  pictures 
at  the  same  time,  but  here,  one  at  a  time,  unless  you 
cheat,  (which  I  am  doing  now,  having  two  heads  in 
progress,)  a  separate  permit  for  each  picture  is  need- 
ed. Only  a  certain  number  of  painters  is  allowed  in 
each  room,  and  often  you  are  obliged  to  wait  six 
months  for  your  turn.  The  Madonna  and  Fornarina 
of  Raphael  are  engaged  for  at  least  two  years — 
about  forty  names  down  for  each.  Copies  of  them 
are  made  from  copies,  and  so  on  to  the  fortieth  gene- 
ration, and  palmed  off  on  very  shrewd  purchasers  for 
copies  of  originals.  Happily  they  are  before  me, 
and  can  be  studied  without  being  copied — too  much 
copying  is  a  delusive  kind  of  occupation,  and  the 
student  is  apt  to  let  the  master  do  his  thinking,  and 
fall  asleep  over  the  work — but  to  hang  over  them, 
dream  of  them,  search  continually  to  fathom  the 
process  by  which  they  were  produced,  and  the  prin- 
ciple by  which  the  painter  was  regulated,   to  en- 


I 


54  MEMOIR    OF  •; 

deavor  to  think  like  him,  then  shut  yourself  in  your 
studio,  and  choosing-  a  subject  for  yourself,  seek  to 
imitate  and  equal,  if  possible,  the  work  you  have 
been  admiring",  seems  to  me  the  most  certain  way  of 
becoming-  a  painter.  Copying-  at  first  is  not  to  be  g| 
neg-lected,  and  in  the  course  of  time  (time  I  must 
have,  and  I  want  nothing-  else,  money  I  have  in  my 
banker's  hands  here  enoug-h  for  years — Florence  is 
too  cheap!)  I  expect  to  have  at  least  one  g-reat  copy 
decorating-  the  house  of  each  of  my  true  friends — 
none  of  youi*  namby  pamby  material,  but  something- 
that  under  the  hammer  (if  the  auctioneer  does  as  he 
is  hid)  will  bring-  a  neat  sum.  Seriously,  I  shall  try 
myself  on  a  few  fine  copies  for  Columbia,  as  soon 
as  I  can  g-et  in — in  the  meantime,  I  am  working-  at 
the  finest  heads  I  can  find,  (a  Rubens  and  a  Reyn- 
olds at  present,)  six  hours  every  day,  (except  their 
confounded  fete  days,  and  they  are  very  many  now 
that  Christmas  holidays  are  here,)  and  two  hours 
every  nig-ht  from  the  living-  model.  Enveloped  thus 
by  an  atmosphere  of  art,  my  days  are  g-liding-  smooth- 
ly and  profitably  along",  thanks  to  the  kind  friends 
among-  whom  I  am  proud  that  I  can  name  yourself. 

I  am  afraid  you  have  other  thoughts  than  of  visit- 
ing- this  old  man  in  his  cell,,  and  you  will  not  come  to 
enjoy  Italia's  sweet  air.  Years  hence  when  you 
send  your  boy  to  see  the  wonders  of  these  beautiful 
fairy  lands,  I  shall  greet  him  warmly  if  I  am  here, 


JAMES   DE    VEAUX.  55 

but  should  I  be  'in  dull  cold  marble  cased/  charg-e 
him  to  find  the  spot,  and  hang"  upon  its  silent  head- 
board a  wreath  of  immortals." 

*^  ^  J£,  ^ 

TT  TT  TT  TV* 

J D to . 


"Florence,  July  10,  1842. 

*  *  *  Inman  has  more  natural  talent  per- 
haps, but  Sully  has  the  learning", — all  that  application, 
enthusiasm,  experiment  and  experience  could  do, 
aided  too  by  g'ood  natural  taste,  and  a  nice  perception 
of  g-race  and  eleg^ance,  almost  of  beauty,  Mr.  S.  has 
accomplished.  Mr.  I.  has  natural  ability,  a  quick 
eye  and  ready  hand, — hard  study  has  always  been 
irksome  to  him  from  ill  health,  but  he  does  wonders 
for  all  that.  Sully  is  our  Reynolds,  and  Allston 
our  iwnrfer, — I  would  not  g"ive  him  for  less  than 
Michael  Angelo !  He  is  as  fine  as  all  the  old  masters 
together! 

I  am  anxious  to  talk  a  little  about  myself  and  my 
course  for  the  six  months  I  have  spent  in  Florence, 
but  am  almost  ashamed,  for  although  I  hope  my 
progress  has  been  fully  equal  to  all  I  hoped  for, 
and  perhaps  more  than  I  had  reason  in  hoping-  for, 
still  I  am  mortified  at  what  will  appear  to  others,  I 
fear,  as  time  lost — that  is,  making  an  original  picture. 
To  be  sure,  I  have  been  studying,  working  hard,  but 


56  MEMOIR  OF 

I  had  no  idea  of  the  time  required,  the  thousands  of 
changes,  the  painting"  out  in  one  hour  the  labour  of 
weeks,  etc.  etc. — Copying*  is  mere  play  to  it,  and 
portrait  painting"  the  greatest  of  luxuries.  I  could 
have  copied  five  pictures  of  the  same  size  in  the 
same  time,  and  I  am  vexed  to  think  I  could  not  g^et  at 
them  when  I  arrived,  as  I  was  anxious  to  do.  Every. 
thing"  here  g'oes  by  favour,  and  artists  are  compelled 
to  wait  sometimes  a  year  to  g"et  permission  to  copy  a 
particular  picture.  I  found  that  was  to  be  my  case, 
and  after  two  months  copying"  of  heads,  and  finding" 
my  chance  to  copy  the  pictures  I  wanted,  very  slen- 
der, I  begran  an  original.  Although  more  is  learnt 
in  this  way  than  by  merely  copying"  the  works  of 
others,  still  the  time  to  a  beginner,  as  well  as  the 
labour,  makes  it  appear  when  finished  but  slow  work; 
— however,  quicker  next  time — it  is  not  quite  as  long 
as  Allston  taking  six  months  to  two  small  figures. 
My  picture  has  ten  figures — the  subject  is  '  Christ 
administered  to  by  Angels  after  his  fast  of  forty  daysf 
it  will  take  me  nearly  another  month  to  finish,  and 
I  shall  start  it  off"  toute  de  suite,  although  I  would  like 
to  keep  it  for  the  exhibition  in  September  here.  I 
know  I  ought  to  have  sent  something  long  ago,  and 
had  I  been  only  copying,  I  could  have  done  so,  but 
instead  of  that  I  have  added  one  to  the  originals !  It 
is  for  Col.  H. 

With  regard  to  advantages  here,   they  are  great 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  *  57 

that  is  beyond  question, — but  all  in  promises, — so  far 
as  g-etting  at  the  good  pictures  is  concerned.  The  re- 
gular old  Italian  copyists  monopolize  them;  but  when 
painting  originals,  to  have  galleries  and  churches 
all  open  for  inspection,  free,  and  every  one  of  them 
well  stocked  with  chef  cV  ouvres,  is  a  glorious  privi- 
lege, and  the  cost  of  living  is  one  half  that  of  Paris, 
though  there  the  copying  is  more  facile  and  modern 
artists  are  far  superior.  Give  me  Paris  with  my 
pockets  filled  and  Horace  Vernet  for  my  master, — 
but  Florence  as  things  are.  Models  for  pictures  are 
the  heaviest  items  of  expense  here, — since  I  have 
been  engaged  on  my  angels,  I  have  had  models 
enough  for  inspection  to  people  a  small  village, — 
angels, — Italian  angels!  from  three  years  up  to  thirty; 
women  and  children,  male  and  female.  I  wish  you 
could  see  me  hauhng  up  one  little  fellow  with  a 
belly-band  and  rope  and  tackle,  and  when  I  get  him 
in  the  air  and  say  'fly  sir,'  he  curls  all  his  limbs  into 
a  heap  and  falls  to  crying ! 

This  climate  is  the  thing  for  me.  I  don't  fatten 
any, — give  me  some  good  medical  reason.  I  am 
afraid  it  is  an  infirmity  of  age. 

***** 


8 


58  MEMOIR    OP 


J D to 


"Florence,  Aug*.  10,  1842. 
My  Dear  Friend: 

Some  century  ago  I  tried  to  open  a  correspond- 
ence with  you,  but  'twas  'snubbed'  in  its  birth  by 
your  veto; — when  I  began  to  write  my  friends  from 
Europe,  your  letter  was  written  and  sent  with  the 
rest, — from  .all  the  others  to  whom  I  wrote  responses 
came,  and  then  between  us  it  has  been  the  old  tune 
of  'wheel  about  and  turn  about'  with  the  exception 
of  yourself  Your  silence  has  had  its  effect  on  me, 
and  its  consequence  is  a  certain  mysterious  solemnity 
of  manner,  and  startling*  sullenness  of  front,  with 
which  I  am  apt  to  encounter  friend  and  foe,  when- 
ever the  heart  is  troubled.  Beware !  how  you 
'tackle'  me  in  this  mood, — 'the  bear  robbed  of  her 
cubs,'  &c.  would  be  a  g-entle  being"  to  take  to  your 
bosom. 

In  a  letter  from  *  *  *  he  tells  me  you  are  a 
candidate  for  'the  sweet  voices'  of  the  sovereig^n 
people, — for  the  legislative  assembly.  This  has  awa- 
kened all  my  anxieties, — the  terrible  sacrifices  of  a 
gentleman  rise  in  order  before  me, — paper  puffs, 
retorts,  sly  squibs,  foul  inuendoes,  barbecues,  stump 
speeches,  whoops,  hurras,  a  few  stiff  'brandy  and 
waters,'  then  a  fight,  with  a  knock  down  and  drag 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  59 

out,  to  finish  the  first  flushing-  of  a  maiden  speech! 
I  am  right  glad  my  absence  saves  my  seeing  you 
during  the  struggle.  I  am  sure  you'll  not  be  amia- 
ble, the  whole  thing  will  clash  so  with  the  kind  of 
excitement  you  rehsh.  It  will  nauseate  you  to  leave 
the  dirty  work  to  dirty  hands ;  but  when  all  is  gained, 
to  sit  among  your  equals,  and  battle  with  the  instruct- 
ed and  the  intelligent,  is  the  position  where  I  can 
depict  you,  with  a  pleasurable  satisfaction,  to  my 
mind's  eye,  and  can  admire  the  laudable  ambition 
that  urges  to  such  a  contest.  Write  me  when  all  is 
over, — meantime  I  shall  mourn  your  condition  and 
sympathize  with  your  distresses. 

When  shall  we  meet  again"?  Not  very  soon,  I 
fear,  unless  you  put  your  old  threat  into  execution 
and  'come  over  the  sea.'  I  love  Carolina,  but  'I 
love  Rome  more,' — or  Florence,  if  you  please, — 
it  is  all  one, — two  days  journey  between  them  to  be 
sure,  but  it's  all  Italy !  From  day  to  day  my  admira- 
tion increases,  and  now  that  the  language  has  become 
rooted  in  me,  I  enjoy  the  country  tenfold  more  than 
ever.  I  am  sometimes  tempted  to  regret  the  very 
kindness  of  my  friends  at  home  and  wish  them  cruel, 
that  I  might  have  an  excuse  for  dwelling  here  al- 
ways, 'midst  vines  and  figs.  Think  of  its  making  a 
man  forget  his  home  and  desiring  to  nestle  with 
strangers!  But  the  people  enter  not  into  my  calcu- 
lations,— the  climate,  the  scenery  and  the  arts  make 


I 


I 


60  MEMOIR    OP 

the  chief  of  its  charms.  Oh!  leave  cob-webs  and 
dust  and  politics,  and  pines  and  scrub  oaks,  and  all 
other  dirty  things,  and  come  here  and  breathe  in 
Italy, — quit  the  damp,  dank,  suffocating-  air  of  sand 
hills,  and  the  leaden  exhalations  of  those  eternal 
swamps,  and  come  stand  at  my  side  at  sun  rise  or 
sun  set  and  let  me  hear  you  say,  '  this  is  life,' — one 
day  in  the  city  of  the  Medici,  is  better  than  a  thousand 
within  the  walls  of  Gotham, — it  is  better  to  be  a  door- 
keeper in  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Duke,  than  dwell 
in  the  White  House  forever.  Throw  a  few  things 
into  an  old  trunk — borrow  a  few  dollars,  and  come 
and  let  me  'cicerone'  you  about.  It  is  so  easy  a 
matter — only  twelve  or  fifteen  days  across  the  ocean, 
that  you  ought  to  spend  the  coming  winter  here. 
Make  up  a  party,  and  start  without  giving  it  a  thought. 
I  can  add  nothing  to  what  has  been  chronicled 
of  the  charms  of  this  country,  and  you  are  better 
acquainted  with  its  recorded  beauties  than  myself, 
let  me  however  certify  to  one  item, — no  description 
written  or  pictured,  can  give  more  than  a  glimmer  of 
the  landscape,  or  the  faintest  idea  of  the  climate,  the 
atmosphere,  the  sun  sets,  olive  groves,  vineyards, 
chateaux,  towers,  mountains,  all  at  one  glance ; — and 
each  cloud  that  intervenes  throws  a  huge  shadow 
over  some  object  and  changes  the  whole  character  of 
the  picture.  From  minute  tq  minute  thus  there  are 
constant  changes,   and   the  rapt   spectator  becomes 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  61 

'drunk  with  beauty.'     Oh!  come  and  let  me  teach 
you  to  enjoy  nature  and  art  in  their  magnificence! 

I  am  studying  hard — but  with  what  success  you 
shall  shortly  judge.  The  subject  I  have  chosen  for 
my  debut  in  history-painting  is  "  Christ  administered 
to  by  the  angelsJ^  Painting  it  under  the  eye  of  the 
best  works  of  dead^  masters,  and  having  now  and 
then  the  scrutinizing  eyes  of  living  judges  to  contend 
against,  I  have  been  floundering  about  in  true  whale 
fashion  for  several  months.  It  has  been  a  good  study 
for  me, — it  has  kept  me  always  busily  thinking  and 
fretting,  and  they  are  apt  to  leave  impressions  firmly 
graven.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  it  candidly  for 
an  original.  Before  my  funds  give  out,  I  shall  have 
one  such,  at  least,  for  each  of  my  good  friends. — 
There  are  American  painters  and  sculptors  here  of 
all  sorts.  I  find  nothing  in  their  society  to  please 
me,  and  so  keep  to  myself  Strange  that  so  much 
venom  should  exist  among  professors  of  a  liberal 
art, — but  the  truth  is,  that  envy  and  jealousy  are  our 
(painters')  besetting  sins,  and  the  first  thing  I  heard 
of  here  was  a  flare  up  at  Rome  'mongst  the  American 
artists,  and  now  they  are  all  in  Florence  for  the 
summer,  so  I  keep  housed.  Except  rehgious  sects,  I 
think  ice  are  the  warmest  and  best  haters,  and  the 
most  mahgnant  devils  the  sun  ever  deigned  to  shine 
upon.  Except  the  French,  I  find  artists  the  most 
disagreeable  associates,  so  can't  expect  to  make  ma- 


I 


62  MEMOIR  OF 

ny  friends  among-  them,  though  I  make  some  small    i 
sacrifices  to  avoid  making-  them  enemies.     The  few 
friends  I  have  among  them   are   exceptions  to  the 
ofeneral  rule. 

Excuse  this  harlequin  letter, — if  I  had  a  little  gold 
left,  I'd  make  its  black  marks  shine  again,  but  were  I 
to  re-write  it,  'twould  be  little  better  than  'gilding 

refined  gold.'     Addio." 

***** 

"  Florence,  Nov.  7,  1842. 
My  Dear  Friend: 

You  distress  me  when  you  complain  of  the  few- 
ness of  my  letters.     I  am  certain  of  having  written 

frequently.     I  have  written  twice  lately  to ,  and 

a  long  letter  to ,  and  I  have  taken  your  last  from 

my  trunk,  and  find  it  marked  'answered,' — in  fact 
no  letter  leaves  my  table  drawer  for  the  solitude  of 
my  leather  malle^  till  it  has  been  responded  to.     Your 

letter  it  indeed  doleful  in  its  tidings.     Poor ,  she 

bade  from  appearance  fair  for  a  long  life  and  S 

and  J , 

'Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid!' 

What  frequent  and  terrible  warnings  are  daily 
given  us,  and  yet  we  travel  on  unmindful  of  the 
threatenings! 

I  have  been  to  Leghorn  to  ship  my  'original'  to 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  63 

Col.  H.  You  express  the  hope  that  I  intend  to  send 
somethino"  else, — no,  no,  all  the  other  thinsfs  I  have 
are  copies  of  heads,  ug-ly  faces,  only  chosen  as  studies 
for  colour — studies  of  costumes  for  future  historicals 
when  I  g'et  home  and  can't  find  such  thing's.  All 
these  studies  are  interesting"  and  most  useful  to  me, 
but  not  so  for  a  g-entleman's  collection, — they  are  the 
best  things  for  a  painter's  studio,  and  I  shall  keep 
them  with  me, — and  have  a  big*  box  to  take  home, — 
but  I  have  finished  all  that  sort  of  thing-  for  myself, 
and  the  rest  of  my  time  I  now  devote  to  copying-  for 
my  friends,  so  look  out  for  boxes  following-  in  rapid 
succession, — making-  originals  is  labour,  but  copying 
is  pastime.  At  Rome  two  weeks  hence  I  shall  dive 
up  to  the  eyes  in  copies — and  then  you'll  cry  'hold, 
enough,'  but  I  will  pile  on  in  spite  of  entreaties. 

I  have  been  on  a  foot  excursion  of  ten  days,  in  the 
most  picturesque  part  of  this  lower  world, — visited 
Siena,  and  the  two  celebrated  Convents  of  'La  Ver- 
na'  and  'Vallambrosa,  where  the  Etruscan  shade 
high  over  arch  embowers,' — lived  two  days  with 
the  old  fathers  of  Vallambrosa,  and  as  many  at  the 
other.  We  ate,  we  drank,  we  snuffed,  and  made 
merry  with  these  cloistered  men,  and  never  have  I 
seen  more  hospitality  and  kindness  bestowed.  They 
chatted  with  us  about  Columbus,  their  countryman — 
America — the  Indians — and  wondered  and  gaped  at 
the  cannibal  stories  we  told  them.     These  good  men 


I 


64  MEMOIR  OF 

feed  and  lodge  all  visitors,  and  receive  in  recompense 
only  what  your  charity  sug-g-ests; — no  charg-e  is  made, 
but,  of  course,  each  traveller,  after  being-  feasted  and 
caressed,  and  hugged  in  the  arms  of  these  old  an- 
chorites, feels  a  bigness  of  soul,  that  tempts  him  into 
a  ruinous  liberality,  and  thus  the  sweet  placid  mild- 
ness of  the  old  coveys  procures  them  ample  means 
to  support  their  institution.  If  I  were  not  Devo,  I 
would  be  the  prior  of  a  convent!  How  I  love  the 
quiet  holy  seclusion  of  their  dweUings! 

I  have  many  sketches  made  from  Nature  as  I  jour- 
neyed— we  were  four  in  number,  Virginia,  Boston, 
New  Haven  and  myself,  and  a  jolly  time  we  had 
with  all  the  loafers  of  each  small  town  we  strolled 
through,  (armed  with  knapsacks,  etc.)  following  at 
our  heels,  and  uttering  witticisms  (an  Italian  privi- 
lege,) at  the  expense  of  the  forestieri — strangers. — 
'May  I  ask  the  way  to  Poppi '  said  I;  'Yes,' — said 
a  smart,  sharp  eyed  beauty,  (just  for  fun  I  did  it,) — 
'Yes  you  may' — 'Then  where  is  it'  I  asked;  'I 
don't  know,'  she  laughingly  replied. 

***** 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  65 


J D to 


''Florence,  Nov.  14,  1842. 

S ,  come  to  Italy.     Nothing-  painted  or  written 

can  g*ive  an  idea  of  the  miUions  of  glorious  objects 
presented  at  every  tarn — old  churches,  palaces  and 
prisons  !  old  towns  tumbling  to  ruins,  or  a  new  one 
springing  into  existence — take  your  choice  and  make 
your  picture.  A  run  up  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  villa-capped  hills  (that  actually  encircle  this 
old  walled  city  of  eighty  thousand  inhabitants,)  at  sun- 
set, is  a  perfect  view  of  Paradise  before  the  fall.  Oh  ! 
what  chiaro  scuro — the  city  at  your  feet,  with  towers 
and  steeples  tomd  by  time,  and  fresh  varnished  by 
the  rays  of  an  Italian  sun! — the  Arno  one  sheet  of 
silver  valley  stretching  far  and  wide — the  immense 
spreading  of  plains  shadowed  by  a  mountain  cloud, 
and  cut  into  by  a  broad  sheet  of  sunlight !  such  things 
I  have  never  seen,  and  will  never  tire  of — each  se- 
cond brinofs  a  change  and  a  new  picture.  In  all 
this  lavish  sport  of  hot  and  cold,  light  and  shade,  the 
eye  rests  soothingly  upon  the  old  white  headed  Ap- 
penines,  that  seem  to  be  stretching  their  necks  to 
get  a  look  at  the  old  Cathedral's  huge  comfortable 
looking  knob,  and  so  warm  themselves  in  imagination. 

Lounging  in  old  churches,  cloisters  and  galleries, 
is   the  occupation   of  m  travellers.     The  churches 


66  MEMOIR  OF 

are  decorated  in  a  style  of  most  gorg-eous  imposing-- 
ness — g"old  and  silver,  crimson  velvet  and  coloured 
silks,  and  more  than  all,  to  me  at  least,  what  adds  to  ^ 
the  largeness  of  effect,  are  the  hig-h  and  extensive 
ceilings  painted  in  architectural  perspective,  carrying" 
the  eye  upward  and  onward  by  a  complete  delusion, 
and  finishing-  in  the  cupola  by  a  picture  of  the  as- 
cension of  Christ,  or  more  commonly  of  the  Virg-in. 
'The  dim  religious  light'  that  is  so  studiously  pre- 
pared in  these  churches,  adds  of  course  to  the  well 
painted  illusions,  and  one  loves  to  sit  in  the  solemn 
silence  and  gaze  himself  into  a  state  of  joyous  en- 
trancement  that  nothing  earthly  equals.  Shall  I 
become  a  Catholic  1  No — I  can  have  these  sweet 
dreams  and  be  a  Protestant  'for  a'  that' — the  heretics 
are  not  shut  out  from  heaven — on  earth  at  least. 

From  Giotto  Massaccio  and  Ghirlandaio  down  to 
Benvenuti  of  the  present  Florentine  Academy,  the 
churches  are  adorned  with  pictures.  An  old  fresco 
from  which  Raphael  took  his  figure  of  Christ  in  the 
TransJigu7'ation,  is  here,  all  tumbling  to  pieces — come 
quickly  to  see  the  last  traces,  if  you  will.  Raphael 
is  better  in  the  Louvre  than  here,  but  Rome  is  his 
seat.  Michael  Angelo,  in  the  tombs  of  the  Medici, 
distances  all  competition — there  is  nothing  too  great 
for  him — believe  all  you  hear  or  read  or  imagine  that 
is  grand  and  sublime,  and  you  will  do  him  no  more 
than  justice— he   is  great  beyond   all  other  human 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  "*     67 

greatness.  His  ^Mother  and  infant  Jesus'  in  that 
tomb,  renders  every  other  conception  of  that  subject 
httle  and  unsatisfactory — nothing-  can  describe  it — 
his  imitators  are  all  failures — he  is  unapproachable — 

"Within  that  circle  none  durst  tread  but  he;" 

— others  may  deal  with  g^race,  beauty,  etc.,  but  for 
the  '  thing's  beyond '  none  should  attempt  to  follow 
Ang'elo.  In  a  few  months  I  hope  to  stand  before 
his  fresco  of  '  The  Judg-ment '  at  Rome ! 

Of  the  present  Italian  school,  it  requires  not  that 
I  should  tell  you  aug-ht; — that  it  has  been  declining^ 
rapidly  for  nearly  two  centuries,  and  has  ceased  to 
be  named  with  the  French  or  Eng-lish,  you  are  well 
aware.  This  is  not  surprising", — many  causes  have 
aided  to  hasten  its  decay,  but  chief  among  them,  the 
fall  of  the  Republic  and  the  pride  and  independence 
of  the  States, — the  commercial  wealth  transplanted 
to  more  favoured  situations, — the  churches,  (the  chief 
supporters  of  the  Artist,)  overstocked  with  pictures, 
and  the  constant  demand  for  copies  by  foreigners 
travelling"  in  this  country,  which  has  made  (and  kept) 
copyists  of  men,  who,  with  the  patronage  that  Ra- 
phael and  others  received,  might  have  been  their 
equals.  If  other  causes  exist,  it  must  be  in  the  g^en- 
eral  deg^eneracy  of  the  race, — the  climate  is  I  suppose 
the  same  as  then — the  models  the  same, — the  pic- 
tures finer  than  they  had  to  study — but  the  incentives 


68  MEMOIR  OF 

are  wanting — '  money,  naoney,  and  ag^ain  money.' 
The  adoration  of  the  old  masters  has  done  its  share 
of  harm,  for  persons  who  for  the  last  century  have  1 
travelled  here  have  been  unwilling-  to  pay  for  aught 
but  copies  from  them,  and  the  government  and 
church  are  too  poor,  or  have  more  pictures  than  they 
need,  so  modern  arusts  of  course  dwindle  into  mere 
copyists — and  poor  miserable  devils  they  are — 
cramped  and  disappointed  in  their  first  aspirings, 
who  can  wonder  at  their  failures  7 

*  *  *  #  * 


2) to  Col.    W H' 


''Florence,  Nov.  7,  1842. 
My  Dear  Sir: 

You  will  not  I  am  sure  put  a  wrong  construction 
upon  my  long  silence — were  I  blest  with  that  quick- 
ness of  observation  and  aptness  of  language,  which 
seeing  at  one  instant  some  object  of  interest,  the 
next  moment  transfers  it  felicitously  to  paper,  all  my 
friends  (and  I  am  fortunate  in  possessing  many,) 
should  long  ere  this  time  have  been  deluged  with 
my  '  pencillings  by  the  way ;'  but  members  of  my 
craft  are  seldom  quill-drivers, — we  are  obliged  to 
make  the  brush  the  vehicle  for  the  passage  of  our 
thoughts,  and  thus  our  very  '  failings  lean  to  virtue's 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  69 

side,'  inasmuch  as  our  acquaintances  escape  the  fre- 
quent infliction  of  dull  letters. 

The  advantage  of  spending-  a  year  or  two  in  Italy, 
a  painter  can  always  appreciate — here  is  the  reposi- 
tory of  all  that  is  great  in  art.  Materials  inexhausti- 
ble for  the  student  to  feast  upon  are  before  hinn,  and 
without  their  knowledge  he  might  be  fruidessly 
wandering  in  the  dark, — by  studying  these  models 
of  our  predecessors,  (a  long  and  irksome  labour  was 
theirs!)  our  way  is  made  short  and  easy; — the  pains 
taking  man  is  enabled  at  a  coup  d^oeil  to  catch  some 
of  the  principles  of  art,  which  those  who  went  before 
him  spent  their  lives  in  pursuing,  and  have  willed  to 
their  followers  as  a  rich  inheritance.  These  master 
pieces  of  other  times  have  pleased  for  centuries,  and 
he  that  can  feel  their  beauties,  and  discovering  the 
rules  and  principles  on  which  they  were  produced, 
applies  them  to  his  own  time,  will  be  sure  to  please 
again.  In  this  spirit  I  endeavor  to  feel  and  work, 
and  if  after  years  of  practice  that  I  hope  are  in  store 
for  me,  it  should  be  my  good  fortune  to  shew  proof 
of  having  well  used  my  present  moments,  it  will  add 
not  a  litde  to  the  pleasure  of  success,  to  couple  with 
it  the  grateful  acknowledgment,  that  to  yourself,  first 
and  last,  I  am  obliged  for  these  invaluable  opportu- 
nities. 

While  engaged  in  making  such  studies  as  I  think 
will  be  of  service  to  me  hereafter,  I  have  painted 


70  MEMOIR    OF 

also  a  picture  of  '  Christ  fed  by  Angels,'  after  his 
fastings  and  temptings  of  forty  days  and  nights  in 
the  wilderness.  This  is  the  first  original  painting 
of  many  figures  I  have  ever  attempted,  and  should 
the  picture  and  subject  be  pleasing  to  yourself  and 
family,  I  would  ask  for  it  a  place  on  your  walls,  at 
least  until  such  time  as  I  can  send  you  something 
worthier.  I  have  forwarded  it  to  you,  through  Good- 
hue &  Co.,  New  York. 

The  moment  I  have  chosen  is  the  arrival  of  the 
ang-els  with  food  and  drink,  and  of  the  Saviour's 
thanksgiving.  The  angels  are  disposed  in  acts  and 
postures  that  chanced  to  strike  most  pleasingly  on 
my  fancy, — all  blemishes  and  beauties  (are  there 
such  7  )  are  my  own — it  is  strictly  original. 

Beginning  on  the  right  of  the  picture,  (the  left  of 
the  observer,)  is  a  figure  partly  obscured  by  the  sha- 
dows that  fall  from  a  cluster  of  foliage — this  is  the 
wine-bearer,  the  Hebe  of  the  company, — next  a  small 
figure  adjoining,  is  one  presenting  a  cup  of  wine^ 
but  waiting  religiously  the  cessation  of  grace, — be- 
hind the  kneehng  figure,  and  some  distance  back  in 
the  picture,  is  one  coming  forward,  with  hands  clasp- 
ed and  eyes  heavenward,  as  if  in  gratefulness  for 
the  relief  sent  to  the  Christ, — then  comes  the  person 
of  Jesus  ; — immediately  on  his  left,  an  angel  is  anx- 
iously directing  his  attention  to  another  just  alighted, 
bearing  bread  and  fruit,  whilst  a  third  is  seen  eager- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  71 

\y  urg-ing"  the  food-bearer  forward ; — an  angel  has 
taken  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  and  is  reverently  em- 
bracing* it, — the  foreground  occupant  kneels  in  silent 
worship. 

Action  in  some  of  the  figures  became  necessary, 
to  give  life  and  animation  to  the  picture,  which  might 
otherwise  have  appeared  tame,  spiritless  and  mono- 
tonous. This  movement  I  have  affected  by  the  sup- 
posed inquietude  of  two  or  three  of  the  younger 
urchins.  I  think  I  have  avoided  any  thing  like  too 
much  busde  and  confusion  in  the  group,  by  the  sa- 
credness  of  air,  bent  heads,  and  prayerful  aspects  of 
the  majority,  particularly  the  elder  forms,  and  have 
left  all  infringement  of  etiquette  to  the  younger 
branches  of  the  family. 

I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  your  own,  and  others' 
remarks  upon  my  work. 

Florence  exceeds  all  my  expectations.  It  is  an 
object  of  admiration  to  all  travellers — they  linger 
longest  here,  aud  pine  to  return; — the  general  air  of 
the  palaces,  having  been  built  as  defences  in  dark 
and  troublous  times,  seems  at  first  sight  solemn  and 
mournful ;  but  then  there  are  modern  buildings  to 
gaze  upon,  and  by  the  light  of  an  Italian  sky, 
even  these  fine  old  barracks  look  grand  and  beauti- 
ful. The  environs  are  all  olive  and  vine  and  fig-, 
and  mountains  with  old  chateaux — so  there  is  enough 
for  poetry  to  warble    and  painting  to  defile.     The 


72  MEMOIR    OF 

people  are  roguish,  but  pleasantly  or  civilly  so, — 
they'll  cheat — but  entrap  them  in  the  effort,  and  they 
will  be  witty  at  their  own  expense,  and  give  you 
a  barg"ain  for  your  cleverness.  To  the  poor  and 
sick  they  are  full  of  kindness  and  charity  ; — their 
relig'ion,  teaching  them  to  expect  a  good  interest, 
may  have  its  weight.  Societies  to  which  noblemen 
belong,  the  Grand  Duke  the  head,  at  the  signal 
bell,  at  all  hours  of  the  day  or  night,  quit  their  la- 
bour, conceal  their  persons  and  faces  in  a  long  cowl, 
and  set  out,  a  litter  on  their  shoulders,  to  assist  the 
sick  and  wounded,  or  to  bury  the  poor  dead.  Mira- 
cles are  not  common  now-a-days,  but  spots  and  pic- 
tures are  shewn,  where  and  by  which  they  have 
been  performed ;  at  one  moment  these  miracle-work- 
ing objects,  or  a  little  cross,  placed  near  them,  will 
receive  the  kiss  of  an  old  toothless  hag,  and  a  mo- 
ment after  the  exquisite,  with  his  face  hedged  with 
whiskers,  and  his  segar  'twixt  his  fingers,  imprints 
the  same  way  the  well  worn  iron — and  larg-e  crosses 
are  painted  on  houses  to  keep  off  the  Devil  and  his 
legions. 

The  nobility  are  no  longer  rich  ; — ^they  have  their 
horses  and  carriages,  but  hire  them  out  to  pay  ex- 
penses, and  the  coachman  is  at  home  a  shoe-maker 
or  tailor  for  the  household.  A  stranger  in  Florence 
is  deceived  by  their  outward  show — -the  French  say 
of  them,  '  habit  de  velours  et  ventre  de  son ' — velvet 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  73 

coats,  and  stomachs  of  husks.  The  beauty  of  the 
females  is  indisputable — you  see  it  in  faces  express- 
ive of  all  that  is  admirable  in  woman — except  mo- 
desty;— here  the  liquid  glance  of  the  melting-  black 
eye,  and  the  soft  languishing-  of  heavenly  blue,  are 
equally  loose  in  their  expression. 

After  another  year,  which  I  contemplate  spending 
at  Rome  and  Venice,  I  may  return  home." 

This  successful  painting,  which  was  an  earnest  of 
the  rapid  digvelopment  of  De  Veaux's  fine  genius, 
came  safely  to  hand.  It  was  exhibited  in  New  York 
to  the  prominent  artists,  who  spoke  in  exalted  terms 
of  its  composition,  brilliancy  of  colouring,  and  beauty 
of  finish.  Among  those  who  saw  it,  Durand,  Hun- 
tingdon, Gray  and  others  were  much  pleased  with 
it.  It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  Inman  and  Sully 
had  no  opportunity  of  giving  an  opinion  of  its  merits. 

I  feel  much  disappointment  that  it  is  not  in  my 
power  to  include  in  this  sketch  its  effect  on  the  taste- 
ful mind  of  a  worthy  artist  friend.  I  feel  incompe- 
tent to  describe  it  in  the  language  of  art,  and  can 
only  say  of  it,  that  the  drawing  is  correct,  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  figures  graceful,  the  expression  in 
keeping  with  the  subject,  the  colouring  rich  and 
brilliant,  the  tone  good,  and  lights  well  placed.     The 

principal  Hght  is  on  the  person  of  the  Saviour,  and 
10 


74  MEMOIR    OF 

is  g-ently  subdued  around  him.  The  air  of  humiHty 
and  thankfulness  is  well  exhibited  in  his  counte- 
nance, and  the  effects  of  fasting-  shewn  on  his  attenu- 
ated frame.  The  figure  of  the  Fruit-bearer  is  full 
of  beauty  and  feminine  grace, — the  kneehng  female 
offering  the  wine  is  most  expressive  of  anxious  in- 
terest for  the  Lord,  and  the  little  angel  in  front  of 
him  is  a  sweet  embodiment  of  pleasing-  reverence. 
The  picture  in  its  general  effect  is  admirably  man- 
aged, and  the  composition  and  execution  would  do 
honor  to  many  of  more  mature  and  wider  reputation. 
In  g-iving  now  the  Journal  of  observations,  which 
was  kept  by  De  Veaux  during*  his  residence  in  Rome 
and  Venice,  I  will  occasionally  introduce  a  letter,  so 
as  to  keep  up  the  circumstances  of  his  life  in  the  or- 
der of  their  occurrence. 

JOURNAL. 

J.  DE  VEAUX.     ROME,  1842. 

Tuesday  J  JVov.  22,  1842. — Roused  from  a  sweet 
sleep  by  servant  Maria,  "  la  vettura  e  venuta  "  broke 
from  her  unharmonious  voice  upon  my  half  awakened 
senses — it  was  then  but  five  o'clock,  and  until  half 

past  two,  I  had  been  up  running-  from  C 's  house 

to  B 's,  and  back  again,  in  search  of  my  cloak, 

which  one  of  them  had  taken  off  in  place  of  his  own. 
B — ,  S — ,  F — ,  C —  and  M —  had  been  with  me,  en- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  75 

joying  ourselves  to  a  late  hour.  We  shall  never 
meet  again  on  such  terms — youth,  good  spirits  and 
light  hearts  to  cheer  us — addio,  i  mici  amici ! 

At  7  o'clock  vv^e  rolled  away  from  Mrs.  Grazzini's 
door, — eleven  months  I  had  passed  happily  in  this 
house,  and  now  was  leaving  it  forever.  I  felt  that  I 
had  formed  an  attachment  for  it,  and  was  severing  it 
in  the  very  moment  of  the  discovery.  Four  insides — 
Lieut.  C ,  of  the  U.  S.  Navy,  a  Prussian  physi- 
cian, a  Norwegian  student,  and  a  Hungarian  painter, 

R and   myself  in  the  cabriolet.       We  paid    ten 

dollars  apiece,  breakfast,  dinner,  bed  "buona  mano" 
included,  from  Florence  to  Rome — the  others  more 
or  less  as  they  were  skilled  in  bargaining. 

Trotting  briskly  along  the  streets,  we  soon  passed 
under  the  "  Porta  JRomano,^^  had  our  passports  vised, 
and  then  a  long  farewell  to  "la  bella  Firenze."  We 
were  soon  over  the  ten  miles  that  conveyed  us  to 
Casena,  but  we  were  to  make  Poggi  Bonsi,  twenty 
five  miles  from  Florence,  ere  our  guide  intended 
we  should  be  fed — and  we  were  in  his  power — had 
given  our  precious  bodies  over  to  his  keeping,  and 
had  to  abide  the  issue.  At  two  o'clock  arrived  at 
the  breakfast  house,  astonished  our  internals  with 
beef-steaks,  mutton-chops,  wine  and  coffee,  and  our 
eyes,  with  a  sign  in  this  far  off  Italian  town,  bearing 
in  large  letters  "  Gaffe  Nuova  Yorck."  We  hitched 
up  again  and  put  off  for  Siena,  fourteen  miles  farther, 


76  MEMOIR  OF 

passed  Sagg-ia,  an  old  sturdy  fortification,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  were  safe  at  Siena. 

We  all  did  justice  to  the  plentiful  dinner  our 
"Vetturino"  served  us  up — the  wine  was  not  good, 
but  some  brandy  bought  at  "  Doney  Cafe "  by  the 
Lieutenant  was  capital; — retired  one  and  all  early 
and  slept  like  fagged  travellers.     I  was  roused  at 

daybreak  by  R crawling  about  in  search  of  his 

clothes,  that  he  might  sally  forth  and  peep  at  the 
Cathedral  before  we  were  ready  to  start.  I  prefer- 
red my  bed,  as  I  had  spent  two  whole  days  at  Siena 
in  August,  during  the  great  "  Festa  "  of  the  assump- 
tion of  the  virgin,  and  was  sufficiently  sated  with 
the  horse-racing — saturated  with  rain,  and  sent  home 
to  bed — walking  up  and  down  its  ugly  streets,  over 
their  fish-bone  pavements.  But  to  one  who  had  not 
suffered  all  this,  the  Cathedral  was  worth  making  a 
voyage  in  the  dark  round  the  bed  room,  running  his 
head  against  a  marble  projection,  and  his  shins 
against  the  chairs,  to  visit. 

At  8  o'clock  we  started,  and,  after  passing  over 
seventeen  miles  of  this  scraggy,  hilly,  volcanic  coun- 
try, arrived  at  Buona  convento  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  breakfasted  to  our  entire  satisfaction.  Weather 
cloudy,  and  the  faces  of  two  of  our  fellow-passengers 
partaking  its  character — they,  it  appears,  have  ne- 
glected a  written  agreement,  "signed,  sealed  and 
dehvered,"  and  the  conductor  denies  having  promised 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX. 


77 


them  breakfast,  so  they  are  to  "  pay  the  extra,"  or 
Hve  (is  such  a  thing'  possible?)  on  one  meal  per  diem. 
Making"  for  La  Scala,  (thirty-seven  miles  from  Siena,) 
our  destination  for  to-nig-ht,  we  entered  the  narrow 
g-ates  of  St.  Ctiiirico — the  church, — doors  gothic,  rich 
and  quaint,  in  architecture  and  device — the  Cardinal's 
palace  of  a  piece  with  it.  As  we  entered  one  gate, 
and  drove  on  to  go  out  at  the  other,  the  windows  of 
the  houses  on  either  side  were  filled  with  women 
and  children — the  babies  ugly  and  dirty  enough,  but 
the  women ! — a  small  black  velvet  hat  seemed  to  be 
universally  worn  within  doors,  and  I  never  saw  even 
Italians  look  so  bewitching.  I'll  remember  the  pat- 
tern of  that  same  hat,  and  when  I  begin  (I  don't 
think  I  ever  will,)  to  tire  of  my  wife,  I'll  get  her  a 
hat  of  St.  Ctuirico,  and  put  her  in  a  window  and  ride 
by  her,  and  if  my  old  love  is  not  rekindled  at  the 
sight,  the  horse  may  keep  on,  I  shan't  care  if  he 
never  stops. 

Outside  the  walls  of  this  old  town,  a  wide  extent 
of  beautiful  country  lay  before  us — on  our  right  hills 
spring  up  here  and  there,  and  each  one  bears  on  its 
peak  the  last  sad  remnant  of  some  noted  strong-hold 
of  the  olden  time; — on  the  left  is  Fienzi, — a  full  blaze 
of  sun  light  is  on  it,  making  it  look  like  a  city  built 
of  white  basalt; — a  few  miles  to  the  south  you  see 
where  old  Montepulciana  (the  producer  of  the  "king 
of  wines,")  lays  his  full  length  along,  as  if  dead  drunk 


78  MEMOIR    OF 

on  his  own  hill  top,  under  his  vine!     We  finished  our 
day  at  about  seven  o'clock. 

La  Scala  boasts  one  house, — there  we  halted,  and 
dinner  was  ordered, — but  woe  to  me!  for  an  indis- 
cretion at  breakfast,  I  am  to  lose  my  dinner.  I  too 
fondly  took  a  pork  steak  to  my  bosom, — it  lay  there 
quietly  some  three  or  four  hours,  when  (ung-rateful 
pork!)  it  turned  upon  the  stomach  it  should  have 
nourished,  and  rent  it  with  retchings  most  vehement, 
until  it  made  its  escape. 

At  six  next  morning-,  had  some  strong  coffee,  felt 
brisk  and  set  out  to  be  drawn  at  the  rate  of  three 
miles  per  hour,  through  a  bleak  wild  looking  coun- 
try,— hills  gashed  and  slit  into  countless  slices  by 
earthquakes  and  washing  rains.  At  starting,  Radico- 
fani,  ten  miles  distant,  perched  on  its  jagged  height, 
was  plainly  visible,  but  before  we  had  passed  the 
first  half  of  our  way  toward  it,  it  was  entirely  lost  in 
the  clouds  and  mist  of  a  gathering  storm,  and  we 
saw  no  more  of  its  romantic  and  interesting  ruins. 
Some  years  ago  when  the  Roman  and  Tuscan  states 
were  disputing  about  the  necessity  of  keeping  up 
its  expensive  armament,  one  in  favor  and  the  other 
opposed  to  it,  the  powder  magazine  took  fire  and 
decided  the  dispute.  We  drew  up  here  in  front  of 
the  "dogana"  and  a  splendid  old  fountain,  and  had 
our  passports  looked  into, — eight  miles  farther,  and 
we  are  at  Torreciello,  the  last  dogana  in  Tuscany, — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  79 

a  few  miles,  and  we  are  landed  at  Porta  Centino, 
the  first  Custom-house  in  the  papal  dominions.  We 
,  met  at  this  point  five  or  six  half  famished  soldiers, 
i  and  g"ave  them  a  dollar  not  to  examine  our  trunks. 
My  naval  friend  refused  to  join  our  litde  innocent 
"bribery  and  corruption"  spree,  pressing-  to  be  de- 
tained and  searched  rather,  but  his  countrymen  with- 
out his  knowledge  made  up  his  share  of  the  stake, 
and  we  passed  snugly  on  our  way. 

Breakfasted  before  we  started; — a  cold  rain  storm 
now  beg-an  in  g-ood  earnest,  and  we  started  off*  in  it 
like  spunky  fellows.  Bolsena,  sixteen  miles  distant, 
was  our  point  for  the  night.  We  were  sadly  disap- 
pointed,— three  miles  from  Centino,  we  stumbled,  in 
a  dense  fog*  that  obscured  every  thing-  a  few  yards 
ahead,  upon  Aquapendente,  an  odd  old  fashioned 
town,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,— a  line  of  low  black 
buildings  stretched  along,  with  a  stream  of  water 
(dependant  on  heavy  rains,)  coursing  along  its  top, 
and  tumbliing  down  its  sides,  forms  a  pretty  cascade, 
and  gives  the  name  to  the  place.  A  few  hours  be- 
fore we  arrived,  two  horses  neglected  by  the  guide, 
had  fallen  from  the  road  at  this  very  eminence,  and 
landed  on  the  plain  fifty  or  sixty  feet  below, — stunned 
and  bruised,  but  not  yet  dead.  We  paid  a  paid  here 
for  passport,  and  drove  in  a  hard  rain  through  this 
first  of  papal  towns  that  I  have  seen, — how  different 
to  the  snuggeries  of  Tuscany !     Narrow  dirty  streets, 


80  MEMOIR    OF 

low  black  houses,  and  every  object  had  a  burnt  to  a 
cinder  sort  of  look.  We  manaofed  to  g'et  on  five 
miles  farther  to  St.  Lorenzo,  and  all  hands  were  so 
disheartened  by  the  storm,  that  we  "  hove  to."  The 
Hung-arian  and  the  Norwegfian  were  for  continuing* 
the  journey  to  Bolsena,  but  we  tender  hot  house 
plants  outvoted  these  storm  king's,  and  hauled  into 
port.  Seated  in  a  chimney  corner  with  a  sparkling" 
fire  to  look  into,  and  form  pictures  in  the  smoke,  is 
the  way  to  meet  a  storm, — there  is  some  little  music 
in  its  pattering-  ag-ainst  the  window,  and  whistling- 
round  the  house  top,  but  having  it  beating"  in  your 
bones, — in  that,  there  is  more  of  rheumatism  and 
catarrh  than  poetry. 

Dined  at  seven  o'clock  on  meag"re  dishes,  but 
laug"hed  and  chatted  over  and  at  them,  so  'twas  a 
pleasant  dinner  after  all.  Beds, — fleas! — next  morn- 
ing- we  had  no  milk  for  coffee,  as  the  bad  weather 
had  kept  the  cows  from  home,  so  we  started  in  hig-h 
dudgeon,  but  we  had  hardly  gone  a  half  mile,  before 
the  lake  of  Bolsena  in  its  ravishing  beauties  broke 
upon  us,  and  every  brow  was  instantly  unclouded, 
and  the  cows  and  milk  forgotten.  We  rode  alona* 
its  borders  for  some  miles  admiring  its  islands  and 
their  fortifications,  when  suddenly  "Bolsena  slum- 
bering on  Volsinii,"  standing  bolt  upright  on  a  bold 
pile  of  rock,  was  before  us.  We  did  not  pass  through 
it,  but  outside  of  its  walls,  and  for  picturesqueness 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX. 


81 


the  old  thing-  is  unmatchable, — old  stone  steps, — • 
wells, — unroofed  houses, — quaint  windows, — tubs, 
kettles,  etc.,  all  out  of  door  kind  of  life, — R.  and  my- 
self were  keen  for  stopping  to  make  a  sketch,  but 
we  had  g-ood  practical  men  of  sense  to  deal  with, 
who  refused  to  listen  to  such  moonshine  notions, — so 
"drive  on  coachee."  Came  next  upon  St.  Lorenzo 
Vecchio,  a  wide  waste  of  the  scattered  ruins  of  an 
old  town,  many  years  the  haunt  of  banditti, — nothing 
seen  but  caves  in  the  hills  and  holes  in  the  ground, — 
subterranean  passages.  It  was  here  that  Gheno  di 
Tacco  (who  was  knighted  by  the  Pope  for  robbing 
his  subjects  in  a  kind  and  gentlemanly  way,)  and  his 
band  inhabited, — laying  the  whole  country  under 
contribution,  and  visiting  secretly  and  cruelly  those 
who  attempted  to  put  the  government  on  their  trail. 
How  inefficient  a  government,  when  a  crowd  of 
bandits  were  dreaded  sufficiently  to  go  unscathed! 
The  road  is  here  strewn  with  small  wooden  crosses 
marking  the  spots  where  soldiers  and  travellers  have 
been  slain; — two  bandits  fell  three  months  since, 
and  a  third,  their  companion,  is  now  in  prison.  The 
country  is  flat  and  sterile; — passed  two  immense 
hills  of  basalt, — seemed  at  least  fifty  yards  high,  and 
very  beautiful.  One  fisherman  drawing  his  net  looks 
like  monopoly,  and  I  suppose  the  Pope  sells  the  right 
to  the  highest  bidder. 

At  Montefiascone,  ten  miles  from  Bolsena,  Mosca- 
11 


82  MEMOIR  OF 

tella  wine  is  made, — there  we  breakfasted  at  one 
o'clock, — the  town  is  dingy, — fiUhy, — dark, — never 
have  seen  its  Hke  for  dirt.  Two  small  chickens  and 
an  omelette  for  six  able  bodied,  half  famished  bipeds! 
I  rushed  from  the  table  to  the  kitchen,  followed  by 
my  indignant  "compagnons  dii  voyage,"  and  spat  out 
all  my  stock  of  Italian  in  invectives  against  Italian 
hosts  in  general  and  "mine  host"  in  particular.  He 
swore,  it  being  "un  giorno  magro,"  fast  day,  there 
was  nothing  else  in  the  house, — we  just  as  loudly  de- 
clared we  would  neither  eat  nor  pay,  unless  we  could 
get  what  we  ordered; — at  this,  boiled  beef,  eggs  in 
all  forms  of  cookery,  fruits,  cheese,  came  following 
in  fast  succession, — our  quarrel  soon  changed  into  a 
brisk  fire  of  jokes  at  our  hoet's  expense,  who  con- 
fessed himself  beaten,  and  he  gave  in  his  hearty 
laugh  as  chorus  to  our  jests.  Left  his  door,  and  after 
two  miles  of  murky  clouds  and  boggy  roads,  were 
set  upon  by  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain  driven  with 
sucli  fury  across  the  bleak  campagna,  that  even  our 
friend,  familiar  with  Norwegian  blasts,  rolled  his  dull 
eyes  in  wondering  dismay.  This  anti-Italian  freak 
joiu'neyed  with  us  to  Viterbo,  fourteen  niiles  from 
Montefiasc'jne, — the  clouds  and  i-ain  prevented  us 
from  seeing  other  than  the  indistinct  shapes  of  old 
castles  reared  on  hills,  looming  out  here  and  there 
through  the  cJiliiks  in  the  storm.  Here  at  Viteibo, 
they  had  another  look  at  our  passports,  and  a  trifle 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  83 

we  had  to  pay.      To  the  hotel  ''Aquila  nera''  we 
were  sped  by  our  fat  vetturino,— ahghting-,  each  pas- 

f    seng-er  sprang-  for  the  door  of  the  hotel— then  the 

i  chase  up  the  dark  slimy  steps,  (what  a  fall  I  had  at 
Pisa!)  dashing  over  heaps  of  empty  wine  flasks  and 
bundles  of  cork,  up  to  the  chambers,— what  selfish 
creatures  we  are!     Here  was  a  scramble  for  the  best 

i  bed,— each  man  was  anxious  to  be  the  most  com- 
fortable  of  the  party;— the  Lieutenant  (who  but  he 
should  have  been  foremost  1)  was  the  victor— chose 
bed  number  one,— the  old  German  next,  and  the 
Norwegian  flanked  the  Dutchman.  "Five  beds  and 
seven  passengers,"  said  the  servan,l,7T-at  that  dread 
sound  there  was  a  rush  for  the  two  remaining  beds; 

.  won  in  fine  st/le  by  tha  Hungarian  and  Itahan.  My 
friend  and  myself  were  disposed  to  go  out,  and 
seek  beds  elsewhere,  rather  than  be  nestled  with 
sti'angers; — the  moment  we  declared  our  purpose, 
the  landlord  offered  to  shew  us  two  beds,  giving  us 
a  comprehensive  wink; — knowing  the  rascals,  we 
smiled  and  followed,  and  were  shown  into  apart- 
ments almost  regal,— if  the  Pope  ever  halts  here,  I 
am  sure  he'll  get  these  apartments.  Here  was  an 
impudent  attempt  (but  every  day  occurrence,)  to  put 
us  all  together,  and  in  the  morning  charge  us  not  a 
cent  less  for  the  inconvenience;  however,  we  got  the 
better  of  the  landlord,  and  the  day  after  shewed  our 
apartments,  and  had  the  laugh  at  our  fellow  travel- 
lers who  had  a  choice  of  rooms. 


84  MEMOIR    OF 

Sallied  forth  to  stroll  for  an  hour, — many  beautiful 
fountains  adorn  this  town,  and  nothing"  was  wanting 
to  produce  a  perfect  picture,  but  the  moonlight  to 
play  upon  them; — the  public  square  has  its  belfry 
and  four  columns, — one  column  is  capped  by  a  lion, 
another  bears  a  griffin,  and  the  other  two  the  arms 
of  the  Pope.  The  streets  are  well  paved,  and  the 
slabs  of  the  side  walks  after  the  heart  of  all  tender 
footed  animals,— long,  black  looking  alleys,  illumina- 
ted by  a  solitary  lamp,  glimmering  in  the  face  of  a 
Madonna  in  her  box, — groups  of  men  and  women  in 
noisy  confab,  making  night  jovial  with  their  sonorous 
voices  and  loud  laughter, — two  urchins  taken  in  fla- 
grant (lelit,  being  borne  to  "limbo,"  closed  our  hour's 
walk  in  Viterbo. 

Saturday. — This  being  our  fifth  day,  we  should 
sleep  in  Rome,  but  for  the  bad  weather  occasioning 
our  delay  at  St.  Lorenzo.  We  should  have  slept  last 
night  at  Ronciglione,  thirty-four  miles  from  Rome, 
but  must  have  patience,  and  go  into  the  Eternal  city 
by  daylight,  which  is  after  all  an  advantage.  As 
"  every  thing  happens  for  the  best,"  our  disappoint- 
ment may  be  our  gain ; — by  half  past  seven  we  are 
"  en  route,"  and  at  twelve  at  Ronciglione ; — this 
town  looks  as  though  lately  laid  in  ruins  by  fire,  but 
'twas  bombarded,  fired  and  pillaged  thirty  odd  years 
since  by  the  French,  and  few  parts  have  been  re- 
built or  cleared  of  their  rubbish.  What  a  dead 
sleep  seems  to  rest  over  this  fair  part  of  the  earth ! 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  85 

"  Oh !  Italia,  Italia  noii  e  piii  come  era  prima,"  is 
chanted  by  one  of  her  sons,  and  is  more  applicable 
at  this  present  time  than  when  he  (Dante)  wrote. 

We  had  made  sixteen  miles,  and  after  eating"  heart- 
ily,  started  to  do  another  sixteen  miles,  which  would 
land  us  at  Boccano,  leaving*  us  for  to-morrow  (Sun- 
day,) a  pleasant  drive  of  eighteen  miles  to  Rome. — 
Never  had  I  encountered  on  land  such  a  spell  of 
weather, — how  old  Boreas  howled  around  us,  as  we 
dragged  slowly  up  the  seven  long  miles  of  Mount 
Viterbo!  The  wind  whisded  shrilly,  and  the  rain 
fell  a  cascade; — the  fog  was  impenetrable,  the  driver 
three  feet  in  advance  of  me,  was  sometimes  almost 
invisible, — the  quarters  of  the  wheel  horses  seemed 
the  boundaries  of  the  fog's  dominion,  and  once  when 
I  saw  four  dim  dusky  imps  emerging  from  the  dense 
vapor,  the  fog  cleared  for  an  instant,  and  my  sprites 
were  the  gaunt  listeners  of  our  two  leading  asses! 
The  mountain  with  the  needle  point  on  our  left  is 
Cimitro,  and  has  its  Chateau,  and  the  lake  we  have 
on  the  right  is  Lago  di  Vico,  (anciently  Semenus,)  a 
bituminous  water,  fatal  to  vegetation  in  its  neighbor- 
hood. 

After  two  hours  rest,  and  "  refreshment  for  man 
and  horse,"  we  made  another  sortie,  and  during  this 
piece  of  our  journey,  all  bedlam  seemed  let  loose, — 
such  drops  of  rain ! — each  of  them  a  young  Niagara! — 
the  cabriolet,  with  its  cracks  in  the  glass  and  chinks 


86  MEMOIR  OF 

in  the  frame-work,  subjected  me  to  partial  soaking" 
about  the  lap  and  leg's; — but  look  at  the  driver  and  his 
outside,  passeng-er — will  they  ever  want  water  ag-ain  7 
— drowned  rats  are  dry  looking  objects  to  these  men. 
Toiled  wearily  up  hill,  and  riding-  through  a  small 
town  called  Monte  Rossi,  (all  mounts  these  towns,) 
brought  us,  after  five  hours  tugging,  to  Boccano. — 
Here  we  alighted  at  a  solitary  looking  inn — passed 
through  its  muddy,  slippery  entrance,  (a  large  hall  on 
the  ground,)  illuminated  by  a  fire,  around  and  about 
which  groups  were  gathered, — they  gave  us  a  salute 
of  Italian  artillery,  (the  rich  ribaldry  of  their  lan- 
guage,) as  we  scampered  up  the  flight  of  broad  but 
greasy  steps.  I  took  the  lead  and  mounted  in  safety, 
— the  Lieutenant  canie  next,  but  encumbered  with  a 
pair  of  large  cloth  over-boots,  he  stumbled  and  fell— 
the  Hungarian  stabber  (so  called  from  the  ferocity  of 
his  threats  against  the  banditti  of  this  classic  region,) 
dropped  like  a  lover  on  his  mistress'  corpse  over 
the  officer's  prostrate  form,  and  the  old  Prussian,  ar- 
riving at  the  instant,  tripped  amid  the  melee  of  legs 
and  arms  that  barred  his  passage,  and  added  to  the 
weight  the  under  man  was  doomed  to  bear.  I  sup- 
pose ('twas  too  dark  to  see  anything,)  this  old  gen- 
tleman undid  for  once  the  everlasting  smile  that 
had  rested  on  his  face  the  entire  journey — whether 
reading  his  guide-book  or  pouring  over  his  Italian 
grammar — engaged  in  conversation  or  with  his  knife 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  87 

and  fork,  complaining-  of  the  weather  or  cursing-  the 
vetturino — still  the  same,  there  it  was,  laying-  within 
a  circle  formed  by  two  lines,  beginning-  on  either 
side  his  nose,  and  descending  to  meet  one  another 
a  half  inch  below  his  heavy  under  lip, — there  rested 
that  eternal  g-rin,  which  was  a  source  of  speculation 
for  a  day  or  two,  but  afterwards  became  too  monoto- 
nous to  interest.  I  saw  this  codger  in  St.  Peters — 
was  that  a  smile  of  derision  and  contempt  with  which 
he  eyed  the  ponderous  dome  1 

This  night  at  Boccano  we  ate,  we  drank  and  were 
a  merry  set, — the  Lieutenant  had  fallen  at  first  upon 
the  "padrona's"  chamber,  and  was  fierce  a  half  hour 
after  when  he  found  his  things  had  been  removed  to 
less  comfortable  quarters, — he  called  me  to  use  my 
Italian  in  his  cause,  and  I  think  it  may  be  laid  down 
as  an  aphorism,  that  a  man  is  always  more  bitter, 
when  his  venom  is  to  pass  through  the  lips  of  another. 
All  was  in  vain,  but  the  landlady  was  less  ang-ry  than 
is  usual, — I  suppose  she  saw  the  Lieutenant's  perti- 
nacity in  attempting-  to  retain  her  room,  a  compliment 
to  her  remaining-  charms; — however  he  was  well 
fixed, — the  "bimbo  bravo"  came  to  his  aid,  and  the 
"scaldino  bene"  was  practised.  We  had  promised 
ourselves  an  egg  nog  to-night  with  the  remains  of 
the  Lieutenant's  supply  of  brandy,  but  he  retired 
sud;'enly,  and  took  his  bottle  with  him. 

Nov.  27.     Sunday  Morning. — Started  from  a  deep 


88  MEMOIR    OF 

sleep  at  seven  o'clock  by  a  loud  knock  of  the  cami- 
ciere, — I,  not  disposed  to  rise,  lay  quiet, — R.  is  roused 
and  g-athering-  wakefulness  enoug"h  to  breathe  out, 
"lasciata  una  candella  a  la  porta,"  snores  ag-ain, — half 
an  hour  after  our  officer  plies  the  door  furiously  with 
his  foot,  and  orders  peremptorily  that  we  "  turn  out 
all  hands."  I  receive  the  list  boots  as  a  memento 
from  our  Lieutenant, — take  our  coffee,  am  liberal  to 
the  camiciere  as  we  draw  near  Rome,  and  take  our 
seats  for  the  last  stag-e. 

During-  the  first  mile  we  met  nothing"  but  the 
"vettura"  filled  with  actors,  but  just  after  having* 
passed  the  seventeenth  mile  stone,  I  saw  something" 
I  took  for  an  old  tree.  It  was  an  effect  produced  by 
fog's  and  clouds  flitting"  in  curious  whirls  about  old 
Rome,  and  g-iving"  that  wavey  form  to  St.  Peters ! 
"  Ecce  St.  Pietro,"  said  the  driver,  and  at  half  past 
eig"ht  o'clock  I  raised  my  hat  seventeen  miles  off 
(not  off  my  head)  to  St.  Peter,  and  he  seemed  by 
a  decided  inclination  to  acknowledg-e  the  compli- 
ment. On  the  holy  Sabbath  day,  on  the  ''  Via 
Caccia, "  I  had  caug-ht  my  first  g-limpse  of  that 
temple,  which  of  all  others  is  most  worthy  the 
Being"  to  whose  worship  it  is  dedicated !  Here  the 
campagna  north  of  the  city  beg-ins,  and  at  first 
sig"ht  I  likened  it  to  an  immense  southern  planta- 
tion, but  as  we  neared  the  city,  and  the  tombs  (of 
Nero  and  others,)  and  remnants  of  castles  and  villas 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX. 


89 


crowded  the  scene,  all  resemblance  ceased,  and  the 
campagna  was  new  to  me — wild,  prostrate,  lonely 
image  of  desolation !  We  rolled  on,  and  passing* 
many  a  splendid  villa's  gate,  now  closed  with  ma- 
sonry, we  crossed  the  Tiber  at  Monte  Malle,  (so 
famed  for  Constantine's  victory,  "  by  this  sign  thou 
shalt  conquer,")  and  were  at  Rome  in  the  "  Piazza* 
del  Popolo."  Here  we  paid  one  paul  (about  ten 
cents,)  to  be  examined,  instead  of  going  to  "  dogana;" 
and  drove  to  Hotel  d'AUemande,  where  we  were 
"  sans  ceremonie  "   disgorged  from  the  voiture — all 

confusion,     I  saw  Mr.  H ,  and  hailed  him  ere  we 

alighted, — scoured  —  dressed  — ate  —  drank — strolled 
with  R to  Monte  Pinchio,  saw  the  French  Aca- 
demy, Claude  Lorraine's  house  and  Salvator  Rosa's. 
Met  the  Lieutenant,  went  together  to  "  Caffe  Greco," 
where  Angelo  and  Raphael  took  their  coffee,  and 
Thorwaldsen  and  De  Veaux  take  theirs ! — Then  to 

to  Mr.  H 's  at  Hotel  de  I'Europe,  met  our  Consul 

Mr.  Greene,  and  Mr.  Crawford,  the  Sculptor — passed 
a  delightful  evening,  and  returned  to  our  room  to 
sleep  in  the  bosom  of  the  former  mistress — of  the 
world ! 

Nov.  28,  29,  30.  These  three  days  have  been  de- 
voted to  room  seeking,  and  it  has  given  me  a  fair 
opportunity  of  seeing  how  things  are  managed  be- 
hind the  curtain.     The  stranger  is  first  struck  with 

*  Piazza — Public  Square. 

12 


90  MEMOIR    OF 

the  loathsomeness  of  the  entrances  to  the  houses, 
except  the  palaces  at  present  occupied  by  the  de- 
scendants of  those  who  built  them,  and  can  afford  to 
occupy  them  exclusively,  and  the  churches ; — but  he 
is  surprised,  after  passing-  through  a  broad  vestibule 
of  filthiness,  mounting-  steps,  broad  and  easy  to  as- 
cend, but  easier  to  descend,  so  foul  and  slippery — 
to  be  ushered  into  rooms  of  splendid  dimensions — 
high  ceilings,  rich  furniture — frescoes  ornamenting" 
every  corner,  and  oil  pictures  hanging  from  the  walls, 
— drawing  rooms  for  princes  truly, — suites  of  apart- 
ments that  make  sixty  and  seventy  dollars  a  month 
appear  a  reasonable  demand.  Almost  every  house 
has  its  court  yard,  or  its  terrace,  or  piazza,  or  foun- 
tain, flowers  and  vines  in  rich  profusion.  It  is  from 
the  back  windows  of  upper  stories  that  you  see 
into  Rome, — more  real  life  in  the  city,  and  pictur- 
esqueness  of  architectural  effect,  than  we  can  see 
otherwise, — strangely  formed  pillars, — steps  or  stairs 
of  most  fantastic  curls,  newly  washed  clothes  stretch- 
ed on  a  line  from  the  top  of  one  house  to  another, 
forming  a  rainbow  in  colour  and  shape, — a  washer 
woman  up  to  her  thorax  in  suds, — a  smart  house-wife 
preparing  her  own  and  her  husband's  meal,  and 
through  a  half  open  window,  a  black-eyed  beauty  is 
putting  her  lovely  form  in  stays, — it  is  a  rich  and 
variegated  picture.  There  seems  to  be  a  painter 
genius  in  every  family, — in  each  house  some  neatly 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  91 

framed  abortion  was  pointed  out  to  me,  by  the  fond 
landlady  mother  as  the  pastime  of  "  il  mio  fig-Ho," — 

but  now  the  search  is  over.     R is  in  quarters 

near  the  "  Piazza  del  Popolo,"  at  eight  dollars  per 
month,  and  I  at  No.  23,  Via  Rossella,  paying-  six — 
both  of  us  complaining"  at  our  hard  fate,  in  not  being 
able  to  please  ourselves  better. 

I  have  no  fire  place — (though  I  hope  for  one,)— no 
carpet  in  my  parlor — the  entrance  dark,  crooked,  and 
boggy, — myriads  of  fleas  are  frolicking  about  me,  and 
a  giant  chinche  eyeing  me  even  now,  and  feasting  in 
anticipation  ,  on  the  blood  of  a  descendant  of  the 
Huguenots. 

Dec.  1.— Began  to-day  to  "  see  sights"— painter  like, 
Borghese  nearest,  and  thither  I  went, — thence  to  the 
Corsini; — the  Pitti  palace  collection  at  Florence  is  so 
fresh  in  my  memory,  that  every  other  must  fail  to  sa- 
tisfy at  first  visit.  Dance  of  Corregio  is  my  favourite 
at  Borghese,  and  Murillo's  Mado?ina  and  Child  at 
the  Corsini.  Went  after  these  visits  to  St.  Peters. 
Mr.  Fenimore  Cooper  is  the  only  man  I  ever  heard 
of,  who  was  not  at  first  glance  disappointed  in  its 
apparent  size; — the  immense  arcades  that  stretch  out 
on  either  side  gave  a  crampedness  to  the  body  of  the 
building — it  seemed  hedged  in  between  two  armies 
of  pillars  !— approach  slowly — recover  your  startled 
senses,  and  think  for  a  moment, — but  you  must  reduce 
yourself  to  a  reasonable  fit,  as  the  firmament  is  much 


92  MEMOIR    OF 

larger, — St.  Peters  is  small  comparatively, — compare 
a  man  standing-  at  the  base  of  a  column  of  the  church 
to  one  of  the  statues  on  its  top — the  man  seems  an 
atom — a  speck  against  the  pillar — the  figure  on  the 
church  seems  scarcely  a  man's  height — it  is  seven- 
teen or  nineteen  feet !  You  must  enter  into  all  this 
to  realize  its  perfection, — it  is  this  same  justness  of 
proportion — exact  adaptation  of  parts  to  the  whole, 
that  constitutes  its  charm,  and  lead  us  to  rejoice  after 
some  weeks  acquaintance,  that  St.  Peters  is  as  it  is, 
and  not  as  our  foolish  imaginings  had  represented 
it — a  strange  fantastic  oddity  that  no  architect  ever 
has  reared  or  ever  will  build.  When  you  arrive  at 
the  door  of  the  church,  turn  round  and  look  back 
upon  the  square, — how  much  larger  it  appears  than 
when  the  building  filled  your  eye,  and  obliged  other 
objects  to  look  small!  I  entered  the  holy  precincts — 
how  beautiful! — the  first  object  that  caught  my  eye, 
as  the  door  opened,  was  the  shell  of  holy  water, 
supported  by  two  infants, — they  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  babes,  and  yet  the  men  and  women  walk- 
ing about  them  were  smaller,— my  eye  caught  that  in 
one  moment,  and  the  next,  St.  Peters,  in  all  its  vast- 
ness  as  well  as  beauty,  was  present  to  me, — it  seemed 
to  expand  suddenly^  and  now  no  effort  of  mine  can 
make  it  appear  less — all  description  on  canvass  or 
paper  (the  best  picture  is  in  the  Louvre,)  is  fruitless — 
rank  madness — nothing  is  like  unto  it, — for  twelve 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX,  93 

months  I  have  been  familiar  with  the  Duomo  at 
Florence,  and  had  learjit  to  form  a  favourable  opinion 
of  its  size  and  beauty,  but  to-day,  whilst  walking- 
about  in  this  Roman  edifice,  (I  must  have  grown 
some,)  I  felt  that  I  could  toss  the  Florentine  into  the 
air  of  the  Roman,  and  catch  it  in  my  hand  like  a 
rubber  ball! — JVotre  Dame  de  Paris  would  make  a 
snug  confessional  box  in  one  of  the  transepts.* 

The  beggars,  the  filth  and  the  bagpipers  before  the 
Virgin's  shrines,  are  the  Roman  bores — these  mendi- 
cants, when  no  one  is  near,  are  as  joyous  and  witty 
and  gay  spirited  as  young  lords,  but  the  moment  a 
strange  sail  heaves  in  sight,  all  changes  in  an  instant — 
crooked  shin-bones — disjointed  wrists — and  a  dozen 
other  deformities  are  presented  as  incentives  to  your 
charity. 

December  2. — I  went  with  Lieut.  C —  to  the  top  of 
the  Campodoglio,  and  had  a  splendid  panoramic  view 
of  Rome — the  seven  hills  of  antiquity  and  the  four 
of  later  days  distinctly  visible, — with  the  blue  Medi- 
terranean only  fourteen  miles  distant, — descended 
and  paid  four  "biocchi"  to  see  the  "  Tarpeian  Rock." 
Job  help  me !  looking  over  the  wall  of  a  garden 
down  on   the   sheds  of  modern  two    story  houses. 


♦  "  The  internal  length  of  the  Church  is  613  feet;  the  height  to  the  top  of  the 
cross,  430;  the  length  of  its  transepts,  445 ;  and  the  height  of  its  main  isle,  150 
feet.  The  building  covers  nearly  six  acres  of  ground.  Three  centuries  have 
passed  in  its  completion,  and  it  has  cost  sixty  millions  of  dollars." — Rome,  by  a 
New-  Yorlcer. 


94  MEMOIR  OF 

eighteen  or  twenty  feet  below  is  all  left  of  it; — to 
the  Forum  where  one  sees  the  remains  of  temples — 
— ^^  Jupiter  Tonans"  three  columns — "  Temple  of  For- 
tune'''' eig-ht  columns — "  Temple  of  Concord^''  nothing-! 
— and  the  arch  of  '■'■  Septiinus  Severus^^ — the  column 
of  Phocas  is  within  thirty  yards — one  hundred  yards 
farther,  three  columns  of  the  temple  of  ^^ Jupiter  Sta- 
tor/^  and  still  another  hundred  yards,  and  you  are  at 
'^Titus^s  Arch."  ^^The  Temjjle  of  Peace"  is  between 
these  two  last  objects,  on  the  other  side  of  the  "  via;" 
— pursuing"  your  way  along"  the  "  via  sacra,"  you  cover 
about  three  or  four  hundred  yards,  when  the  temple 
of  Venus  on  the  left,  Constantine's  arch  on  the  rig"ht, 
and  the  Coliseum  in  front,  all  burst  on  your  weary 
train. 

In  this  stroll  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  beautiful 
column  of  Trajan^  (the  model  of  the  Vendome  at 
Paris,)  and  the  fountain  of  Trevi.  Whilst  looking" 
down  from  the  steeple  of  the  Campodoglio  upon 
Rome,  my  companion  warmed  into  a  classic  fit,  and 
bring'ing-  up  from  the  bottom  of  his  pockets  notes  and 
memoranda  of  history  g-athered  from  Goldsmith  and 
others,  as  his  memory  freshened  at  the  perusal,  he 
would  g-lance  from  one  scene  to  another,  till  I  was 
delug"ed  in  declamation. — fling-ing*  his  arms  into  the 
air  and  stretching  himself  so  far  over  the  railing,  as 
to  induce  me  to  wrap  the  skirt  of  his  coat  around  my 
hands  to  ensure  his  safety, — he  pointed  to  the  spot 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  95 

where  ''Caesar's  body  lay," — passed  to  Lucrezia  the 
chaste,  and  Virg^inia  the  innocent, — Camillus  pausing" 
to  look  back  upon  the  city,  from  whence  he  was 
issuing"  a  banished  man;  and  had  got  as  far  into  his 
story,  as  to  be  busily  eng"aged  with  the  Goths  and 
Vandals  in  sacking  Rome  over  again,  when  the  old 
attendant  cut  short  the  oration  by  declaring  that  the 
''Signore"  had  detained  him  too  long,  as  his  wife 
waited  his  presence  for  dinner, — poor  old  man!  your 
lack  of  patience  lost  you  that  day  at  least  a  liberal 
fee, — none  of  the  after  bows  and  smiles  could  make 
atonement  for  an  offence  so  great. 

Dec.  3. — Thorwaldsen's  Studio^ — the  master  spirit 
is  not  in  Rome,  but  in  Copenhagen,  superintending 
the  arrang'ement  of  a  collection  of  his  works, — he 
was  born  at  that  place.  There  is  some  talk  of  his 
returning  here  for  a  short  time,  and  I  may  yet  see 
this  greatest  of  moderns, — for  excepting  Michael 
Angelo,  nothing  since  the  ancients  equals  him.  His 
"  Christ  and  twelve  Apostles"  colossal  figures,  and 
'■^  John  i^reaching  in  the  wilderness^"  a  group  of  sixteen 
figures  the  size  of  nature,  are  the  great  achievments 
of  modern  sculpture, — wonderful  man! — from  the 
quiet  solemnity  of  the  apostles,  he  turns  to  work  out 
the  maddening  revels  of  a  bacchanahan  group,  and  it 
seems  the  work  of  enchantment, — surely  he  but  wills 
it,  and  the  clay  assumes  the  form  I  *     Doria  Pcdace, — 

♦  Thorwaldsen  died  at  Copenhagen  in  March,  1844.    His  funeral  was 
attended  by  the  King  and  Princes  in  deep  mourning,  and  the  honors  to  his 


96  MEMOIR    OF 

richest  in  pictures  of  all  the  galleries  here,  except  the 
Vatican.  Salvator  Rosa's,  ^^  Murder  of  Abel,^^  and  tico 
larg-e  landscapes  of  Claude,  are  the  gems.  Titian's 
and  Vandyke's  splendid !  Copying-  was  once  freely 
and  generously  permitted  by  the  prince,  but  a  pain- 
ter,— a  gallows-dog, — wiped  his  palette  knife  in  the 
silk  curtains  of  the  chamber,  and  now  no  copying 
except  by  favour  through  some  of  the  owner's  pri- 
vate friends  is  ever  granted. 

Dec.  5. — Pantheon.  The  sudden  rushing  up  of 
this  Dome,  and  taking  the  eye  and  mind  along  into 
the  heavens,  is  the  finest  thing  in  architecture  I  know 
of, — such  a  lifting  up  I  never  felt, — I  was  startled 
into  something  like  nervousness, — felt  like  flying 
round  the  old  glorious  temple  a  turn  or  two,  and 
shooting  through  its  aperture !  It  is  the  most  perfect 
of  the  Roman  temples, — built  tv/enty-seven  years 
B.  C* 

The  Vatican  closed  to-day,  (and  Thursday  afesta) 
because  a  balloon  ascension  (the  second  in  Rome!) 
takes  place  at  three  o'clock,  and  as  the  government 
is  concerned  in  the  speculation,  it  is  so  arranged  that 
no  good  excuse  can  be  made  for  staying  away, — 
two  pauls  a  head  entrance, — every  body  there, — the 

memory  were  of  the  most  distinguished  character.  The  King  subscribed 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  towards  his  monument. 

*  It  is  now  sacred  as  the  burial  place  of  Raphael,  "  the  prince  of  painters," — 
under  whose  bust  is  the  celebrated  inscription  by  Cardinal  Bembo, 

"Raphael,  timuit  quo  sospite  vinci 

Rerum  magna  parens,  et  morienti,  mori." 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  97 

fellow  rose  about  one  hundred  yards,  and  came  down 
ag-ain,  and  ridding-  himself  of  coat,  boots,  etc.  etc.,  he 
rose  ag-ain,  and  after  ten  minutes  cavorting,  landed 
safely  (more  than  I  expected)  near  St.  Peters,  and  all 
the  coaxing-  could  not  get  him  up  a  third  time. 

Bep-an  drawing-  from  the  life  to-nio-ht  at  the  Ameri- 

can  Academy, — R ,  T ,  L- and  myself. 

For  many  days  I  have  been  wandering-  about  Rome, 
seeking-  no  particular  '4ion  to  kill,"  but  encountering- 
many, — the  churches,  fountains,  obelisks,  all  enter 
into  these  desultory  walks,  which  I  prefer  to  a 
reg-ular  drive  to  some  chosen  point,  which  either 
disappoints,  or  is  inaccessible,  or  where  a  servant's 
fees  or  his  gibberish  make  one  testy.  What  store 
houses,  or  rather  tomhs,  of  fine  pictures  some  of 
these  churches  are!  There  are  in  the  catalogue  of 
painters  a  certain  set  of  names  well  known  and  de- 
servedly so, — these  are  in  the  memories  of  all  traveL 
lers,  and  pictures  bearing-  such  names  as  their  authors, 
all  g-azed  at  and  admired,  but  how  many  painting-s 
there  are  here,  without  a  name,  which  for  composi- 
tion or  drawing-  or  Chiaro  oscuro,  and  sometimes  all 
combined,  the  greatest  masters  might  be  proud  to 
have  produced!  Yesterday  I  saw  a  picture  of  the 
^^  Martyrdom  of  St.  Andreio"  that  looked  as  though 
Salvator  had  drawn  and  Rubens  had  coloured  it, 
but  no  name, — this  is   fame!     After  St.  Peters,  the 

Church  of  St.  Paid,  erected  on  the  spot  where  that 
13 


98  MEMOIR  OF 

apostle  suffered,  is  the  larg-est  and  most  beautiful, — 
twenty  years  ag-o  it  was  nearly  consumed  by  fire,— 
it  has  never  been  completed, — and  another  century 
perhaps  will  find  it  imcomplete.  St.  John  in  Lateran 
is  my  other  favourite,  and  then  St.  Maria  Mag-giore. 
In  St.  PauPs,  (which  for  size  is  next  to  St.  Paul's  in 
London,)  I  saw  a  picture  by  Cammuccini,  the  ^^Con- 
version of  the  Saint" — well  drawn,  but  so  formal  and 
common  in  design  and  crude  in  colour,  as  to  fail 
completely  in  interest, — nothing-  original  or  new  in 
it; — a  picture  by  Mr.  Severn,  an  Englishman,  is  far 
more  poetic  and  spiritual,  though  indifferently  drawn. 

Thursday,  Dec.  15.     Lieut.  C had  a  ticket  for 

St.  Peters  J  and  took  me  with  him ; — this  gentleman 
is  in  good  odour  at  the  palace, — he  had  two  days 
since  an  interview  with  the  Pope,  who  took  his 
hand !  and  gave  him  a  silver  medal  of  himself,  and  a 
crucifix  for  his  mother, — both  Catholics  of  course. 
We  had  a  favourable  day  and  basked  in  the  sun  on 
old  St.  Peters'  top.  I  mounted  to  measure  myself 
by  one  of  the  statues  on  this  eminence,  and  my  head 
reached  the  knee  pan!  I  spanned  a  foot,  (and  my 
span  is  nearly  a  foot,)  and  'twas  five  of  them !  there 
was  no  limit  to  these  old  builders,  and  what  a  top- 
knot has  Michael  An^-elo  swunof  in  the  air!  The 
Lieutenant  and  I  penetrated  the  ball ! — were  anxious 
to  get  out  upon  the  cross  and  ba^cl,  but  this  was 
forbidden,  as  accidents  had  happened, — so  we  sate 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  99 

tog-ether  in  this  brazen  g-lobe,  where  twenty  mig-ht 

be  accommodated,  and  g-azed  for  a  while  on  things 

I     beneath, — and  chatted  away  with  the  confidence  of 

i     men  feehng"   themselves   far  above  all  mischievous 

eaves-droppers. 

Descended  and  entered  the  Vatican  (my  second 
visit)  tog-ether.  Why  is  this  collection  not  open  to 
the  pubhc  every  dayl — no  man's  lifetime  is  enoug-h  to 
taste  of  all  the  treasures  here  shut  up, — why  confine 
it  to  Mondays  and  Thursdays'?  Apollo^ — Laocoon^ — 
Meleager, — The  Transfiguration  of  Raphael^ — -and 
Domenichino's  ^^  St.  Jerome^''  with  some  thousands 
of  other  fine  works  so  nig-g-ardly  dealt  out, — Louis 
Philippe  manag-es  the  thing-  better, — the  "  Loggia  "* 
of  Raphael,  and  above  all  his  ''  Battle  of  Constantine''^ 
and  '■Hhe  fire  at ,"  went  far  beyond  all  calcula- 
tion, and  one  feels  willing  to  acknowledge  that  he  is 
"the  prince  of  painters," — his  cabinet  and  oil  pic- 
tures are  mere  child's  play  to  these  frescoes. 

Wednesday^  Dec.  21.  After  three  weeks  of  vexa- 
tious disappointment,  I  commenced  work  to-day  in 
the  Colonna  Palace ; — two  notes  I  have  had  the 
Consul  to  write,  but  nothing  except  money  will  open 
doors  that  servants  are  masters  of;  if  I  had  found 
out  that  secret  sooner,  I  would  have  saved  much 
time.  The  master  will  send  you  a  written  permis- 
sion, but  leaves  the  rest  to  the  domestic,   and  he 

*  An  arcade  whose  roof  and  wall  are  painted  by  Raphael. 


100  MEMOIR    OF 

never  has  a  place  unoccupied,  till  he  has  felt  the 
weig-ht  of  two  or  three  dollars, — the  extreme  mod- 
esty of  these  creatures  prevents  their  telling'  you  this, 
■and  you  may  g-o  back  and  forward,  from  time  to  the 
end  of  time,  unless  you  chance  to  learn  from  some 
other  source  the  existence  of  this  hateful  custom^  it 
is  frig-htful,  to  a  painter  at  least,  the  power  of  these 
rascals, — how  a  master  can  entrust  so  much,  is  more 
than  I  can  fathom.  Doubtless,  many  an  artist  has 
left  Rome,  after  remaining"  a  week  or  two  despairing* 
of  ever  being-  admitted,  not  knowing"  that  even  with 
the  7naster^s  consent  in  his  pocket,  it  is  to  the  rnan  he 
is  to  look  for  favor,  and  that  bolts  fly  back  and  pic- 
tures dive  from  the  walls  at  the  mag-ical  tones  of  two 
clinking"  scudl, — what  will  not  villainous  gold  effect 
in  this  selfish,  bad  world !  But  the  trouble  is  over, 
and  here  I  am  in  my  chamber,  made  snug"  by  the 
addition  of  a  carpet,  and  fire-place  g"Ouged  in  the 
wall.  I  have  paid  five  dollars  for  about  a  half  cord 
of  wood,  which  will  of  course  last  the  winter :  what, 
winter  in  Rome'?  Really  until  yesterday  I  have 
never  wanted  a  fire,  and  can  hardly  now  realize  my 

friends  at  home  ''  breaking  the  ice," — W to  get 

an  old  english  drake,  and  the  doctor  to  "better  or 
worse "  a  pleurisy.  There  is  no  humbug  in  this 
cUmate, — I  have  been  a  sceptic  in  the  matter,  but 
these  last  three  weeks  have  ''fixed  my  notions,"  and 
the  bluest  skies,  and  softest  airs,  and  rosiest  sun-sets, 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  101 

all,  all  make  Rome  their  home.  Here  is  the  home  of 
nature  and  of  art ! 

St.  OnifriOj  the  retreat  and  death  and  burial  place 
of  Tasso,  is  a  convent  on  the  west  side  of  the  Tiber, 
and  giving-  a  charming"  view  of  Rome; — the  chapel  is 
burthened  with  monuments  to  the  illustrious  dead, 
but  the  poet's  name  stands  pre-eminent.  A  small 
marble  slab  marks  the  spot  where  his  bones  lay,  and 
in  the  wall  over  it  is  another  marble,  bearing-  his 
portrait,  and  a  record  of  his  renown, — in  the  library 
is  seen  the  cast  in  wax  taken  from  his  face  after 
death,  and  a  few  articles  that  belonged  to  him, — the 
splendid  oak  he  planted  was  blown  down  last  year, 
and  as  the  rage  for  making  snuff  boxes,  and  other 
like  valuable  presents,  from  the  planting  of  great  men, 
has  passed  away,  with  the  exception  of  the  parts  that 
have  been  burnt  by  the  fraternity,  it  is  still  lying  on 
the  ground.  This  in  England,  and  planted  by  a 
Shakspeare  or  Milton,  would  be  a  perfect  fortune, — 
I  shall  I  think,  take  a  log  on  speculation !  it's  worth 
may  yet  become  known  before  the  whole  trunk  is 
"cast  into  the  fire." 

It  was  in  1586  that  Tasso  was  liberated  from  the 
mad-house  of  Ferrara,  where  the  Duke  Alfonso  had 
been  obliged  to  place  him,  and  in  1595  he  was  found 
dead  in  his  chamber,  the  night  preceding  the  day  on 
which  he  was  to  have  been  publicly  crowned.  You 
may  go  to  the  door  of  this  room  and  read  the  inscrip- 


102  MEMOIR    OF 

tion  over  it,  but  none  are  permitted  to  pass  its  thres- 
hold— the  door  seems  hermetically  sealed. 

Christmas-eve.  Went  to  St.  Peters — 'wanted  to 
go  into  the  Sistine  Chapel,  where  the  Pope  was  to 
be  present  at  a  mass,  but  had  not  found  time  to  go 
home  for  my  dress  coat,  and  could  not  pass  in  a 
frock; — went  into  the  church  and  heard  the  vespers, 
barely  heard  them,  the  travellers  chiefly  English, 
walking,  talking  and  laughing,  so  independently. 
One  was  a  beautiful  French  woman,  with  an  awk- 
ward long  chinned  husband — I  prevented  her  little 
ponies  from  running  off  with  her  (knowing  animals, 
those  Shetlands,  to  ru7i  away  with  such  a  woman !) 
one  day,  but  she  don't  cog  the  salvatore  to-day — 
n'importe, — I  would  save  her  every  day  in  the  year, 
just  to  see  those  eyes,  so  beautifully  sparkling  in  their 
alarm. 

At  8  o'clock,  p.  m.,  I  went  to  Mr.  S 's  room, 

with  T and  E .     We  had  a  bottle  of  good 

brandy,  eggs,  sugar,  plates  and  tumblers.  I  served 
them  up  an  egg-nog^  to  which  they  were  strangers, 
but  took  wonderfully  to  it  on  first  acquaintance,  and 

"killed  it  with  kindness;" — R joined  us,  and  we 

were  all  kind  to  each  other.  I  went  home  and  re- 
tired at  twelve  o'clock,  but  at  three  was  on  foot  again, 
to  be  present  at  St.  Maria  Maggiore,  to  witness  the 
procession  of  the  cradle  and  infant^— one  of  the  things 
you  are  told  you  must  see.     It  assuredly  is  a  duty^ — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  103 

a  chant  by  the  ordinary  attendants,  and  a  larg-e  glass 
cradle  with  silver  gilt  trappings  and  a  golden  baby, 
the  size  of  life,  borne  under  a  satin  canopy  by  seve- 
ral priests,  is  a  flat  affair  for  Rome.     I  met  there 

Messrs.  S and  M ,  they  had  been  at  St.  Louis 

des  Francais  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  were  even  worse 
treated  at  that  place,  having  "heard  a  little  music  and 
seen  nothing."  Returning  home  at  six  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  met  my  four  egg-nog  friends,  urging  their  way 
towards  the  church,  shewing,  by  their  drowsy  looks, 
that  they  had  slept  too  long  to  see  the  show  at  the 
church  before  next  year. 

Dec.  25. — Christmas  day.  Took  a  carriage  for 
three  pauls  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  went  to  St. 
Pietro's, — the  whole  road  was  lined  with  carriages 
going  and  returning, — had  two  Cardinals  in  advance 
of  me, — each  drives  two  carriages,  one  for  Secretary, 
&c.  After  being  an  hour  in  the  multitude  at  St.  Pe- 
ters, the  clock  struck  ten, — the  music  struck  up,  and 
from  the  first  chapel  on  the  right  of  the  door,  (which 
was  temporarily  hung  with  curtains  to  conceal  what 
was  behind,)  issued  the  Pope.  He  was  seated  in  a 
gold  and  crimson  chair,  and  borne  upon  the  shoulders 
of  twelve  men,  all  in  crimson  dresses, — the  Pope  in 
white,  with  the  jewelled  diadem  over  his  old,  good 
natured  looking  phiz.  A  canopy,  supported  by  four 
men,  and  two  large  fans,  carried  one  on  each  side 
of  him,  (no  flies,  but  fleas  very  lively,)  and  a  file  of 


104  MEMOIR    OP 

soldiers,  were  preceded  by  the  Cardinals  and  other 
dig"nitaries ; — turned  in  towards  the  chapel  of  the 
Saint — sacrament  for  a  minute — then  moved  on,  and 
deposited  their  holy  burden  between  the  grand  altar 
and  the  "  Confession "  or  sepulchre  of  St.  Peter. 
The  old  man  walked  toward  the  Sepulchre,  and 
kneeling",  prayed, — all  knelt — then  walked  to  a  chair, 
covered  with  white  satin,  and  taking-  his  seat,  the 
Cardinals  approached  one  by  one,  bowed,  bent  and 
kissed  the  extended  hand ; — after  them  another  grade 
followed,  who  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment, — then 
another  still,  who  went  down  to  the  foot,  and  smack- 
ed the  handsome  white  satin  shoe  of  the  good  man, — 
music  always  going, — at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty 
kisses.  This  over,  the  Pope  was  accompanied  to 
another  seat,  reared  under  the  great  altar, — the  back 
ground  to  his  white  satin  chair,  rich  red  velvet  cur- 
tains, sustained  by  six  gilded  angels,  each  four  feet 
high,  whilst  a  seventh,  bearing  a  crown,  is  in  the  act 
of  descending  to  place  it  upon  the  Pope's  head  ; — then 
followed  a  variety  of  forms,  all  done  to  splendid  music 
— various  cups  and  plates,  etc.  etc.,  were  borne  from 
the  sepulchre  to  the  Pope,  who  seemed  to  bless 
them,  and  then  they  were  carried  off.  The  whole 
concluded  by  the  Pope  at  the  "  Confession"  being 
"incensed"  by  the  oldest  Cardinal,  who  was  served 
by  the  Pope  in  turn,  etc.  etc. — then  he  mounted  his 
seat,   and  was   borne   out   as  he  had  entered.      It 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  105 

occupied  two  hours  and  a  half.  There  were  tempo- 
rary seats  for  the  ladies,  (they  all  seemed  strang-ers,) 
who  were  all  in  black  with  a  veil  on  their  heads,  and 
the  gentlemen  were  all  in  black,  full  dress, — unless 
this  is  attended  to,  you  cannot  pass  in  the  church  be- 
yond the  sepulchre  of  St.  Peter.  Military  and  civil 
officers  go  in  uniform, — the  English  red  predominant, 
— richest  colour  and  finest  looking  men, — several 
officers  from  our  Mediterranean  squadron,  and  a  mil- 
itary colonel  from  Michigan, — the  Swiss  guard  of 
the  Pope  in  full  uniform  (designed  by  M.  Angelo,) 
the  body  cased  in  armour,  and  the  helmet  of  steel, 
with  the  two  handed  sword, — the  splendid  satins  and 
silks  and  laces  of  the  Cardinals  and  other  officials,— 
the  different  costumes  of  the  various  attendants,  all 
minghng  together,  formed  a  scene  that  I  feared  only 
fancy  had  pictured,  but  here  the  glorious  reality  was 
before  me,  and  now  it  is  more  like  a  splendid  dream 
than  something  I  have  really  seen.  I  almost  fear  to 
see  more  of  it,  lest  this  sweet,  dreamy,  uncertain 
state  should  become  too  palpable  from  familiarity. 

Dec.  26,  27.  The  custode  of  the  Colonna  palace 
takes  holiday,  so  I  have  spent  these  two  days  among 
the  tombs.  There  are  in  Rome  three  hundred  and 
sixty  churches, — to  see  them  all  is  impossible  for  me, 
—time  is  too  precious.  The  most  remarkable  for 
architectural  beauty,  or  as  the  depot  of  any  great 

works  of  art,  or  the  burial  place  of  a  great  man,  are 
14 


106 


MEMOIR    OF 


SO  well  known,  that  it  is  easy  to  find  and  see  all  that 
is  most  interesting".     With  my  guide  book  under  my 
arm,  I  have  in  two  days  peeped  into  two  score  of 
them,  and  in  each  one  have  I  found  some  work  of 
art  fitted  for  a  painter's  study — not  only  Raphaels — 
Guercinos — Marattas — Cortonas — Domenichinos  and 
a  host  of  other  fine  -things,  without  great  names  to 
recommend  them.     The  Chapel  of  St.  Ignace,  in  the 
Church  of  Christ,  has  the  most  sumptuous  display  of 
rich  marbles  and  precious  stones  in  the  same  space 
to  be  found  in  any  church, — two  angels  support  a 
globe  of  Lapis-lazuli!  the  largest  known  piece  ex- 
tant.    The  drapery  of  the  figures  is  of  surprising 
beauty;  and  the  marble  groups  on  either  side,  by 
Teodame    and  Legros,  are   very  splendid.     At  St. 
Pietro  in  Vincoli  sits  clothed  in  the  majesty  that  An- 
gelo  could  so  well  depict,   the  stern  old  lawgiver 
Moses,   and    amid   the  sarcastic   shafts  of  wits  that 
have  been  shot  at  the  ample  beard  and  glory  crown- 
ed head,  the  offended  guide  of  Israel,  wrapped  in 
the  consciousness  of  true  greatness,  still  looks  undis- 
mayed.    Death  came  ere  Angelo  had  finished  even 
that  figure,  (as  may  be  seen  by  the  right  hand  and 
mastoid  muscle  of  the  neck,)  and  how  far  inferior  are 
the  other  figures  placed  there  by  Raphael  de  monte 
Lupo !     Angelo's  design  is  carried  out, — Julius  II.,  it 
is  erected  to.     St.  Augustine  has  a  single  figure,  a 
fresco  by  Raphael,  representing  the  prophet  Isaiah, 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  107 

a  fine  picture  by  Guercino,  and  a  virgin  and  baby 
in  marble,  more  thickly  strewn  with  presents  of  pic- 
tures, pistols,  knives  and  other  knicknacks,  than  I 
suppose  any  careful  mother  would  be  willing-  to  have 
about  a  child.  Here  is  the  oldest  cupola  in  Rome,  of 
the  fourteenth  century. 

St.  A7idrew  of  Mount  Cavallo,  is  a  beautiful  little 
pantheon.  In  St.  Apostles  is  a  monument  by  Canova 
to  Clement  XIV  ; — the  figure  of  Clement  is  grand, 
and  the  figure  to  his  right,  leaning  on  the  urn,  is  a 
chef  d^ouvre — the  sitting  figure  is  as  bad  as  the  one 
in  the  same  church  to  his  friend  Volpato.  In  ara 
Coeli  place  of  the  Capitol  is  a  beautiful  interior — the 
long  line  (sixty-five  or  seventy)  of  red  granite  col- 
umns on  either  side,  and  its  gilded  roof,  make  a  rich 
show.  Pinterucchio  has  here  some  of  his  best  fres- 
coes, restored  by  Cammuccini.  St.  Catherine  of 
Siena  and  ^S*^.  Domenic  opposite,  are  both  worth  a 
visit, — one  for  its  frescoes  by  a  pupil  of  Raphael, 
(Timothy  della  Vite,)  and  the  other  because  it  is  not 
far  off.  St.  Sylvester  on  the  Quirinal  has  frescoes  by 
Domenichino.  The  Church  of  St.  Louis,  built  by 
the  French  in  1587,  has  a  great  ''Assumption"  by 
Bassano,  some  of  Domenichino's  best  frescoes,  a 
copy  by  Guido  of  Raphael's  St.  Cecilia,  and  two 
splendid  pictures  by  M.  Angelo  Caravaggio.  There 
is  here  a  monument  to  Sigalon,  who  copied  Angelo's 
"  Last  Judgment,"  (seven  years  labor,)  for  the  French 


108  MEMOIR    OF 

g-Qvernment,  and  a  full  statue  in  white  marble,  erect- 
ed by  Louis  Philippe  to  Claude  Lorraine.  These 
Frenchmen  will  have  the  best  or  nothing-, — "aut 
Caesar  aut  jhaullus." 

St.  Trinity  is  another  of  their  constructions,  built 
by  Charles  VIII.  of  France,  in  1494.  Louis  XVIII. 
repaired  and  re-opened  it.  "  The  assumption  of  the 
Virgin"  here,  is  by  Daniel  de  Volterra, — M.  Angelo's 
portrait,  the  man  who  points  towards  the  virg-in ; — 
^^  Magdalen  at  the  feet  of  Christ,"  by  Julio  Romano; — 
the  great  "  Taking  down  from,  the  Cross"  of  Volterra, 
under  M.  Angelo's  directions.  This  is  the  church  of 
the  adjoining  convent  of  the  "sisters  of  the  heart," 
who  occupy  themselves  in  the  education  of  young 
Ijadies. 

But  the  last  visit  I  paid  to-day  was  to  the  prison, 
from  which  St.  Peter  was  miraculously  led  by  the 
angel.  I  was  led  into  this  subterraneous  cell  by  the 
garrulous  custode,  and  had  the  miracle  explained  with 
all  the  impassioned  fervor  of  a  true  believer.  De- 
scending into  the  pit  (which  is  done  by  candle  light,) 
you  meet  the  roughly  hewn  profile  of  an  old  man's 
head,  carefully  covered  over  with  iron  grating-,  and 
this  is  the  impression  made  in  the  wall  by  St.  Peter's 
hai^d  visage, — (a  blow  from  the  heavy  fist  of  a  Roman 
soldier  is  said  to  have  occasioned  this  rude  likeness.) 
The  opening  above  through  which  the  light  first 
streamed  in  on  the  apostle's  solitude,  has  its  grate 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  109 

also,  and  the  place  in  the  wall  through  which  he 
creeped  to  meet  the  angel  outside  the  city  wall,  (for 
this  the  guide  assured  me  was  the  case,)  has  a  door 
of  iron,  barred  and  locked, — if  there  is  an  aperture, 
neither  sceptic  nor  behever  can  say.  I  plucked  an 
antique  cobweb  from  the  wall,  and  it  lies  in  my 
guide  book,  a  memento  of  this  dismal  excursion. 

Dec.  31.  For  the  last  four  days  I  have  been  too 
hard  at  work  to  see  any  thing,  but  this  afternoon  at 
four  o'clock,  went  to  the  Church  of  Jesus,  and  wit- 
nessed, at  the  beautiful  chapel  of  St.  Ignace^  the 
ceremony  of  taking  leave  of  the  old  year,  and  thanks- 
giving for  the  blessings  enjoyed,  and  prayers  for  a 
continuance  of  them  the  year  to  come.  The  Pope 
officiated, — the  music  I  enjoyed  more  than  usual, — 
there  was  all  the  mournfulness  of  an  adieu  in  all  the 
tones,  and  impressed  me  sensibly  with  a  feehng  of 
death ; — how  rapidly  the  imposing  and  solemn  splen- 
dor of  this  religion  grows  on  one!  I  must  leave 
Italy,  or  some  day  find  myself  a  deserter  from  my 
own  family,  and  bowing  to  the  forms  of  this  fascin- 
ating worship. 

Jmiuary  Ist^  1843.  All  hail,  thou  day  of  good 
resolutions, — which  are  never  kept!  I  rose  this 
morning  and  had  nothing  neio  to  put  on, — this  is  an 
old  superstitious  custom  of  mine,  and  I  am  vexed  that 
I  forgot  yesterday,  to  furnish  me  something. 

Went  to  the  Church  of  "7h  ara  coeli,^^ — and  saw 


/ 


110  MEMOIR  OF  ' 

the  real  infant  Jesus  that  St.  Luke  coloured  and 
varnished!!  It  is  the  full  size  of  nature,  (in  marble,) 
decked  in  the  richest  swaddling  clothes,  and  laying" 
in  a  manger.  This  is  a  pleasing  exhibition,  and 
arranged  exacdy  on  the  plan  of  a  scene  on  the  stage 
of  the  play  house; — a  wing  of  the  church  is  the 
theatre, — in  the  foreground  is  the  babe,  and  over  it, 
hang  Joseph  and  the  virgin,  clad  in  brightest  colours, 
and  painted  to  the  life, — groups  of  shepherds  with 
their  presents  have  arrived,  and  are  worshipping, — 
the  back  ground  is  an  extensive  country,  and  figures 
and  groups  are  placed  at  different  removes  from  the 
eye,  hastening  toward  the  Christ,  and  as  far  as  one 
can  see,  crowds  are  observed  winding  along  the  vale 
and  hills,  descending  to  visit  the  Saviour; — then 
above  is  a  crowd  of  angels,  and  the  Father  in  their 
midst, — all  the  principal  figures  are  the  size  of  life, 
well  carved  and  painted,  and  with  the  church  dark- 
ened and  this  group  so  illuminated,  that  the  eye  sees 
not  from  whence  the  artificial  fight  proceeds,  the 
effect  is  magical.  These  Cathohc  priests  are  all 
painters  in  feeling,  and  get  up  these  sights  in  so 
wondrous  and  impressive  style,  as  not  only  fill  the 
ignorant  with  awe,  and  impose  on  the  credulity  of 
the  weak,  but  draw  admiration  from  the  crowds  of 
intefiigent  travellers,  who  cannot  but  admire  the 
ingenuity  that  accomplishes  so  much. 

After  six  weeks  of  such  weather  as  I  have  never 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  Ill 

met  elsewhere, — a  succession  of  the  lovehest,  the 
balmiest  days  that  Italy  only  can  furnish,  we  have 
to-day  to  beg-in  '43  with,  a  dark,  rainy,  miserable 
time,  and  here  I  am  before  my  fire  of  two  sticks, 
(each  twelve  inches  long  because  my  chimney  is  too 
small  to  admit  larger,)  kindled  only  after  a  half  hour's 
application,  and  the  consuming  of  at  least  one  cent's 
worth  of  cane  and  grape  vine. 

January  2.  An  Italian  day, — old  Rome  is  proud 
of  her  reputation,  and  won't  let  a  cloud  obscure  her 
blue  sky  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours  at  a  time. 

Jan.  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8.  Alternately  cloudy  and  clear; 
painting  steadily  at  the  Colonna  palace,  and  drawing 
at  night, — a  little  fire  comfortable  at  home,  but  en- 
gaged in  the  day  I  never  think  of  it,  and  have  none 
where  I  work.  Friday  was  a  /esto,  (pasqua,) — I 
went  yesterday  to  visit  ^^ Marie  degli  Angeli,^'  one  of 
M.  Angelo's  triumphs, — the  round  vestibule  at  the 
entrance  is  one  of  the  chambers  of  Diocletian's  baths 
which  occupied  this  site, — a  Greek  cross  is  the  form 
adopted  by  Angelo.  Salvator  Rosa's  and  Carlo 
Maratti's  tombs  are  here. 

Jan.  9.  At  the  Propaganda  from  three  to  five 
o'clock,  listening  to  forty-eight  different  languages, 
spoken  in  turn  by  the  students  of  the  institution, — 
each  occupied  about  three  to  five  minutes, — Mr.  Jer- 
emiah Cummings  from  Washington  city,  said  his  say 
in  Latin,  and  was  loudly  applauded,  and  Mr.  D.  J. 


112  MEMOIR  OF 

Mclntyre  of  CharloUestown,  in  the  Celtic  tong-ue, 
were  the  two  Americans.  Three  or  four  coal  black 
skins  were  among"  them,  and  the  Ethiopian's  lang'uage 
agreeably  surprised  me, — the  "vulgar  Greek,"  and 
the  Spanish  and  Italian  certainly  bore  off  the  palm 
for  sweetness  of  sound, — the  "bulgarico"  and  "con- 
canico"  and  "armino  vulg-are,"  were  never  meant 
for  ears  polite, — such  violent  jerkin gs  of  the  human 
voice,  a  sort  of  hop,  step  and  jump  snapping*  in  tico 
of  monosyllables.  If  I  am  here  next  year  I'll  not 
forget  to  visit  Babel  ag-ain, — to  g-o  or  send  to  the 
secretary  for  a  ticket  is  sufficient.  I  understand  a 
Mr.  Carr  of  South  Carolina,  is  at  the  establishment. 

Jan.  17.  The  festa  of  St.  Antonio  Abbate,  the 
enamoured  of  swine  and  other  animals.  Went  to 
see  the  sprinkling*  of  beasts, — an  old  officiate  sate  at 
a  table  in  the  church,  (the  sing-ers  exerting-  their 
lungs  all  the  while,) — at  a  table  before  him  was  a 
small  box  of  change; — whenever  a  carriag-e  drove 
up  to  the  door  an  attendant  entered,  and  paid  some 
three  or  four  pauls  to  this  jolly  looking*  friar,  who 
handing*  him  his  change  and  a  printed  receipt,  stalked 
to  the  door,  mumbled  a  few  mysterious  words,  and 
shook  his  wet  mop  over  the  horses,  carriage  and 
occupant, — but  this  is  poor  sport, — it  lasts  eight  days, 
and  Sunday  is  the  rich  time,  the  Cardinals,  Bishops, 
&c.  &c.,  so  I  am  to  see  the  sight  yet, — patience  for 
five  days. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  113 

Jan.  21.  St.  AgneSj — went  to  her  Church,  two 
miles  outside  the  g-ate  Pia,  and  after  hstening  to  the 
mass  "pontificale," — splendid  it  was,— at  least  an 
hour  of  the  best  singing-  to  be  g^ot  in  Rome,  some  of 
the  St.  Celilia  members  being  eng-ag-ed, — I  saw  the 
"benediction  of  the  lambs," — two  httle  animals  borne 
on  velvet  cushions,  decked  with  flowers  and  crowned 
with  gay  wreaths,  were  brought  into  the  church,  laid 
on  the  altar,  (feet  tied  of  course,)  and  after  being  ad- 
dressed in  Latin,  (clever  sheep  if  they  comprehended 
it,)  and  sprinkled  with  holy  water,  were  taken  away 
to  be  fleeced, — the  wool  made  into  tippets,  (pallii,) 
which  the  Pope  sends  as  presents  to  several  chosen 
Archbishops.  A  singular  scene,  at  least  to  a  heretic^s 
eye,  occurred  at  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony. — 
As  the  priests  carried  the  lambs  forth,  the  people 
ranged  themselves  so  as  to  make  an  alley  for  their 
egress,  and  each  true  believer,  as  the  animal  passed 
within  his  or  her  reach,  plucked  a  piece  of  wool  from 
its  tender  side, — what  a  running  of  the  gauntlet! 
Midst  all  this  pinching,  this  "cruelty  to  animals,"  not 
one  complaining  bleat  escaped,  so  patient  were  the 
lambs.  To  Rospigliosi  palace,  and  looked  a  long 
long  time  at  Guide's  ^^Aurora" — except  '■'■Hercules 
and  the  Ceiitaur  JVessus^^  in  the  Louvre  at  Paris,  I 
have  as  yet  seen  nothing  of  Guide's  that  ranks  him  in 
my  esteem  among  the  greatest;  but  these  are  two 

masterly  compositions,  and  in  the  whole  range  of 
15 


114  MEMOIR  OF 

art,  I  remember  no  two  pictures  where  movement  is  so 
happily  expressed; — there  is  in  the  "Aurora"  a  per- 
fect rush  for  the  "other  side  of  sunset," — the  wheel 
of  the  chariot  is  unfortunately  standing-  fast,  but  is 
only  perceptible  to  us  fault-finding-  daubers.  I  have 
never  heard  die  critique,  but  it  is  too  true.  The 
drawing-  and  harmony  of  colour  are  equal  to  the  con- 
ception,— the  two  first  faces  to  the  left  of  the  specta- 
tor are  Raphaelesque  and  beautiful,  '■^Apollo's  head,^^ 
the  least  satisfactory  of  all, — the  flying-  child  as  breezy 
as  a  summer  cloud, — the  horses  are  grouped  natur- 
ally and  their  undefined  or  uncertain  colour  adds 
wonderfully  to  the  effect  of  hg-ht; — dazzled  by  the 
blaze  of  sunshine  the  eye  strives  to  give  them  a 
palpable  tint,  but  fails  in  the  effort.  ^^  Christ  and 
twelve  Apostles,'^  by  Rubens,  half  lengths, — noble 
heads,  fully  worthy  of  their  author; — a  Bacchante 
reclining  on  an  empty  flask  by  Pouissin,  is  a  gem; — 
^^  Sampson  jmlling  down  the  Temple^^''  by  Ludovico 
Carracci,  is  grand  in  composition  of  lines,  and  migh- 
ty in  execution; — '^Adam  and  Eve^^^  surrounded  by 
birds,  beasts,  etc.  etc.,  by  Domenichino,  is  curious  for 
its  wonderful  workinsf  out  of  animals. 

Sunday,  22d  Jan.  I  saw  to-day  three  pictures 
by  a  German  artist,  painted  for  the  King  of  Holland, 
and  a  design  for  ^'- John pr caching ^^  for  the  same  royal 
personage, — all  clever; — the  ^^ Emigration!'' — the  ^^ Sis- 
ter of  Charity,^^ — how  sweet  that  child  that  kisses  her 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  115 

hand! — and  ^'■Filial  Affection f^ — the  sucking-  babe 
beats  Raphael.     The  painter's  name  is  Kreuseman. 

Last  nig"ht  I  witnessed  the  ''  Tableaux  vivans,"  by 
the  best  of  the  Roman  models ; — Poetry, — Justice, — 
Philosophy, — Moses  found  of  Raphael, — "  Seven  lean 
and  fat  years,"  by  Werbeck, — Judgment  of  Solo- 
mon,— and  "  Niobe ;" — a  pleasant  evening", — the  com- 
pany composed  of  four  hundred,  Eng-lish,  French 
and  Germans  principally,  at  the  Theatre  "arg-ento." 
These  exhibitions  fix  the  picture  more  lasting-ly  in 
one's  mind ; — I  shall  make  it  a  point  to  attend  such 
places  whenever  I  have  the  opportunity, — how  much 
such  a  representation  in  nature  leaves  us  to  deplore 
the  inadequacy  of  art!  Raphael  never  looked  so 
well  as  last  nig^ht. 

Wednesday^  Jan.  25. — I  went  to-day  to  visit  Cardi- 
nal Fesch's  gallery  in  Via  Giulia — upwards  of  three 
thousand  pictures ! — Rubens'  '■'■Adoration  of  the  Ma- 
gi,^^ — Rembrant's  "John  preaching,^^  in  black  and 
white, — his  mother's  head  and  others, — "Last  judg- 
menf^  of  Tintoretto, — "  Four  Saints," — and  "Madonna 
and  Child,^^  by  Pordonone  equal  to  Titian ; — some  of 
the  best  Teniers'  I  ever  saw, — two  charming  Van- 
dykes. 

On  my  route  to  the  Cardinal's  palace,  Falconieri^ 
I  saw  the  old  palace  of  the  once  powerful  family  of 
the  Mattel,  now  extinct,  and  on  entering  the  court 
yard,  found  the  sides  of  the  palace  crusted  with  ex- 


116  MEMOIR    OF 

quisite  specimens  of  Grecian  sculpture, — alto  relievos 
principally; — what  picking's  for  a  painter's  port  folio ! 

Saw  in  the  Piazza  di  Tartarughi  a  beautiful  foun- 
tain— four  figfures  support  the  basin,  and  from  off  the 
hand  of  each  a  tortoise  is  walking*  into  the  water, — 
the  hands  seem  raised  as  if  with  the  object  of  pla- 
cing* the  animals  in  the  water,  and  not  to  support  the 
basin.  I  visited  St.  Carlo  in  Catinari,  built  in  1612. 
Lanfranco  has  painted  the  ceiling-  of  the  g"reat  altar, 
and  a  picture  of  the  ^^Annunciation"  Pietro  di 
Cortone  a  jjrocession,  and  a  clever  fresco  is  here  by 
Guido.  The  four  cardinal  virtues  by  Domenichino, 
are  the  best  things  except  Sacchi's  '■^Death  of  St. 
Anne"  the  virgin's  mother. 

Strolled  toward  St.  Pietro  in  Montorio^  on  the  hill 
Janicule,  and  from  the  plat  in  front  of  the  church 
had  the  most  splendid  view  of  Rome  I  have  yet  fallen 
upon.  In  the  church  is  M.  Angelo's  desig^n  and  Pi- 
ombo's  painting  of  ^^ Christ  whipped"  and  other  paint- 
ings of  his  around  it, — Vasari's  "  Conversion  of  St. 
Paul"  —  '■'■John  Baptist"  by  Volterra,  —  Raphael's 
'-^ Transfigw^ation"  was  over  the  altar  before  the  Va- 
tican received  it,  painted  for  this  congregation,  who 
now  receive  a  pension  in  place  of  it.  The  temple 
raised  by  Bramante  on  the  spot  where  St.  Peter  was 
massacred,  in  the  enclosure  of  this  church,  is  a  per- 
fect specimen  of  beauty, — the  fountain  two  hundred 
yards  above  this  edifice,  is  not  to  compare  with  my 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX. 


117 


old  acquaintance  that  I  pass  daily  on  my  way  to  the 
Colonna  palace — the  fountain  of  Trevi. 

Sciarra  Palace.  "The  Gamblers  of  Caravaggio" — 
"  Vaiiity  and  Modesty,^^  by  Da  Vinci, — the  "  Violin 
PloAjer"  by  Raphael, — the  "Titian^s  Mistress"  has 
been  entirely  ruined  by  "  repairs,"  or  else  Titian 
never  saw  it ; — the  drapery  is  very  well,  but  far  in- 
ferior in  its  way  to  any  thing*  by  Titian  that  I  am 
privy  to; — the  "Past,"  the  "Present"  and  "Future," 
all  three  figures  armed  with  bows  and  arrows,  by 
Valentine,  are  well  drawn  and  painted. 

Palazza  Spada.  Two  heads,  children,  by  Correg-- 
gio,  in  the  same  picture, — the  "  Visitation,"  by  Andrea 
del  Sarto, — a  beautiful  picture  of  "  Winter"  by  Ten- 
iers,  and  a  "  Girl"  by  Guercino,  a  back  view,  head 
all  in  shadow,  are  chef  d^ouvres.  The  rest  of  the 
pictures,  like  the  contents  of  some  other  g-alleries, 
are  mere  trash,  and  better  things  may  be  found  in 
picture  cleaners'  shops.  The  first  great  hall  is  said 
to  be  painted  by  Julio  Romano, — if  true,  JuHo  has 
played  false  to  himself, — bad,  from  first  to  last; — 
the  "Pompey"  the  statue,  at  the  base  of  which 
"  Csesar  fell,"  is  on  exhibition  here, — who  beheves 
it"?  It  is  a  fine  antique  morsel,  however,  and  may 
have  been  sprinkled  with  the  Roman's  blood, — I 
hope  (as  I  have  seen  it,)  it's  the  true  article. 

Feb.  2.  The  benediction  and  presentation  of  the 
candles  in  St.  Peters,  where  I  witnessed  almost  a  fac 


118  MEMOIR    OF 

simile  of  tiie  splendid  pag"eantries  of  Christmas  day, 
excepting-  the  candles.  After  the  ceremony,  a  Te 
Deuni  was  sung*  for  the  delivery  of  the  city  from  an 
earthquake  in  1707 ! — it  chances  to  be  this  day  twelve 
years,  since  the  present  Pope  was  elected,  and  the 
sixth  is  the  anniversary  of  his  consecration,  which  is 
to  be  ushered  in  by  the  "  guns  of  St.  Ang-elo." 

Su7iday,  Feb.  12.  Yesterday  I  took  my  studio  in 
the  Via  del  Olmo,  at  four  dollars  per  month,  from 
Mr.  W ,  an  English  artist, — went  to  Colonna  pal- 
ace and  brought  my  copy  away ;  thence  to  the  Ros- 

pigliosi  palace   with  Mr.   S to  see  a  copy  he 

wants  to  purchase.     R goes  to  be  presented  to 

the  Pope,  with  the  P s  of  Boston.     I  painted  at 

his  room  till  he  returned,  and  had  a  conversation 
with  my  pretty  model  on  the  happiness  of  matrimony, 
— she  has  been  married  five  months,  and  says  the 
sweets  are  bitters. 

Eight  or  ten  days  since,  heavy  rains  of  four  or  five 
days  continuance  flooded  the  campagna  and  the  city 
as  far  as  the  Corso  in  the  Via  Rissetta, — boats  by 
order  of  the  government  were  rowing  from  house 
to  house  and  handing  in  at  the  windows  bread  to 
the  needy, — since  1805,  there  has  been  nothing  hke 
it.  Sickness,  and  consequent  suffering  among  the 
poor,  follow  this  sad  event. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX,  119 


D to 


"Rome,  Feb.  12,  1843. 

*  *  *  Once  in  Rome,  and  all  is  right, — hence- 
forth, who  can  taunt  me  with  that  painter's  reproach 
of  not  having  bowed  before  Raphael  in  the  ^ Loggia,^ 
and  worshipped  at  the  shrine  of  Angelo  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel  1 

I  succeeded  after  ten  days  (the  old  native  copyists 
are  favoured  in  all  the  galleries  of  Europe,  except 
in  France  and  Belgium,  to  the  injury  of  foreigners,) 
in  obtaining  permission  to  copy  a  picture  of  '■Rebecca 
at  the  wellj  by  Guido,  which  has  good  three  months 
painting  in  it.  I  shall  paint  another  of  the  same  size 
and  send  them  from  here  before  I  leave  for  Venice, 

(1st  of  June,)  to  Mrs.  H and  Mr.  P .     At 

Venice,  I  am  told  on  all  hands,  I  am  to  find  the  best 
pictures  of  my  favourite  Titian  and  Veronese, — and 
will  there  execute  at  least  two  for  *  *  *  and  *  *  *. 
You  must  bear  patiendy  with  me, — if  I  live,  the  pic- 
tures will  be  painted.  The  original  (those  originals 
are  improving,  tell  me  what  you  think  of  '  Christ  and 
Angels^  by  Devo,  candidly,)  took  me,  at  Florence, 
seven  months  and  upwards,  hard  work, — so  I  shall 
make  copies  until  I  get  back  to  Paris,  which  I  think 
will  be  in  October,  and  winter  it  there,  to  paint  your 
historical  picture. 


120  MEMOIR    OF 

I  hope  some  day  to  talk  to  you  about  Rome,  and 
its  environs, — to  write  about  it,  I  have  no  room, — it 
is  not  as  beautiful  as  Florence,  but  how  interesting- 
every  ruin !  It  lacks  the  creature  comforts  of  its 
fair  sister,  but  what  food  for  the  mind !  There  is  no 
sky  elsewhere,  no  sun-sets, — the  natives  talk  of  the 
severity  of  the  winter,  and  rejoice  that  it  is  past !  I 
have  worked  every  day  in  an  old  palace,  in  a  room 
twice  as  large  as  your  house,  and  no  spark  of  fire  or 
fire-place  is  there ; — snow  fell  one  night  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  thick,  and  the  next  day  was  the  poetry  of 
fine  weather.  I  am  a  Roman,  and  am  wiUing-  to 
take  the  cares  of  Popedom  on  my  head,  if  it  would 
insure  my  living"  always  here.  I  came  prepared  to 
be  disappointed  in  the  hig-h  character  of  the  winter, 
but  I  have  known  no  winter  day.  Can  I  not  per- 
suade you  to  come  next  winter  ?— I'll  work  here 
instead  of  at  Paris  if  you  will, — the  Consul  has  open 
house  every  Monday  night,  and  all  the  Americans  g-o 
there, — about  fifty  now  in  Rome. 

You  see  by  the  business  part  of  my  letter,  that  in 
the  day  time  I  am  copying- ; — at  nig-ht,  I  draw  at  a 
small  Academy,  composed  of  the  six  or  seven  Amer- 
ican painters  at  Rome.  We  are  all  new  comers 
except  two, — Mr.  Terry,  who,  for  three  years  has 
been  engaged  on  a  picture  of  '  Christ  and  the  Doctors 
in  the  Temple,^ — he  has  been  just  five  years  here, 
— his    picture    is    highly    creditable,— the    other  is 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX,  121 

Mr.  Crawford  of  N.  York,  a  sculptor,  who,  for  eight 
years  has  been  drinking*  at  the  fountain  of  inspiration, 
and  has  become  bloated  with  habitual  intemperance, 
— he  is  full  of  art  and  genius  and  application, — his 
great  fault  is  his  impatience  of  finish,  and  this  ren- 
ders the  complaint  generally  made  against  the  hands 
and  feet  of  his  works  just  and  true ; — but  for  poetic 
conception  of  his  subject  and  ability  to  work  out  his 
imagining,  he  stands  among  the  first  in  Rome,  and 
is  the  lion  of  American  sculpture  at  home  and 
abroad.  His  ^ Orpheus^  descending  into  hell  after 
lulling  with  his  harp  Cerberus  into  sleep,  is  just  fin- 
ished,— the  full  size  of  life ; — and  goes  in  the  spring 
to  Boston,  where  you  must  see  it,  if  you  ever  visit 
'  the  modern  Athens.' 

I  have  been  twice  to  see  the  Pope  officiate  at  St. 
Peters, — have  been  within  twenty  yards  of  his  holy 
person,  and  a  more  amiable,  benevolent,  good  old 
face,  I  never  saw, — he  has  been  reigning  twelve 
years,  thus  overstepping  by  five  years,  the  average 
of  the  Popes  (two  hundred  and  sixty)  from  St.  Peter 
down  to  us. 

Happy  and  contented,  breathing  an  atmosphere  all 

art  and  beauty,  my  imagination   often  wanders  to 

your  home, — fancy   ranges  unchecked,  and  I   give 

place  and  occupation  to  every  member  of  the  chosen 

coterie  you  have  about  you ; — sometimes  watching 

the  merry  vintagers  pouring  forth  their  rich  strains  of 
16 


122  MEMOIR  OF 

music  that  lig-htens  toil,  and  again  seated  amidst  the 
grey  old  ruins  of  other  days,  as  the  purple  shadows 
of  the  setting  sun  comes  over  them, — even  then  I 
have  thought  of  you,  happy  at  home,  surrounded  with 
those  household  joys  that  make  a  heaven  of  earth." 

iL.  ^  ^ 

TT  TV"  •7V' 

The  copy  after  Guido  of  ''Rebecca  at  the  imll,''  is 
now  an  ornament  to  the  drawing  room  of  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Hampton,  of  South  Carohna,  and  is  a  beaudfully 
finished  specimen  of  De  Veaux's  skill  as  a  copyist. 
It  is  a  rich  selection  of  the  work  of  that  master, 
and  a  worthy  representative  of  the  gallery  of  the 
Colonna  Palace. 

I  have  lately  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  beau- 
tiful ''Orpheus"  of  Crawford  in  the  Boston  Athenae- 
um.* It  is  a  successful  embodiment  of  poetical  fiction 
in  marble,  and  does  full  justice  to  the  opinion  of  the 
sculptor's  lamented  friend,  with  the  exception  that 
this  is  not  amenable  to  the  remark  of  the  want  of 
finish  of  his  works.  The  execution  is  admirable  and 
the  finish  very  perfect.     Much  to  the  regret  of  all 

*  "  The  subject  of  Orpheus  is  conceived  and  developed  in  the  genuine  spirit 
of  classical  antiquity,  but  the  figure  is  executed  with  the  life-like  reality  of 
nature;  the  final  model  of  modern  as  well  as  of  ancient  art.  The  daring  lover 
has  lulled  to  sleep  by  his  magic  strains  the  triple  headed  Cerberus,  who  crouches 
at  his  feet ;  he  passes  this  barrier,  and  presses  forward  with  his  impatient  head 
and  heart  in  advance  of  his  more  sluggish  feet ;  one  hand  holds  the  potent  lyre, 
and  the  other  shields  his  eyes  from  the  bright  day  which  he  is  quitting,  and  aids 
him  in  striving  to  penetrate  into  the  mysteries  of  Hades,  which  he  is  about  to 
brave  in  pursuit  of  his  Eurydice.  The  suppressed  energy  of  the  moment  pro- 
duces a  happy  union  of  motion  and  repose,  and  the  action  and  attributes  tell 
their  own  story." — "Rome,"  by  a  New  Yorker,  p.  183. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  123 

lovers  of  the  arts  was  the  unfortunate  condition  in 
which  it  reached  this  country,  from  carelessness  in 
the  transportation.  Though  seriously  broken,  it  has 
been  carefully  put  together,  and  is  properly  placed  in 
the  distinguished  institution  which  is  an  ornament  to 
Boston,  where  intellect  and  capacity  and  execution 
are  so  worthily  appreciated.  Though  we  have  as 
yet  but  little  to  boast  of  in  collections  of  paintings 
and  sculpture,  Boston  rivals  Philadelphia  as  the  de- 
pository of  the  fine  arts  of  the  United  States.  The 
residence  of  Stuart  and  of  Allston,  she  possesses  the 
finest  memorials  of  these  men  of  genius,  and  well  do 
her  citizens  know  their  value.  Here  we  can  point 
with  satisfaction  to  worthy  patrons  of  the  arts,  who 
know  how  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  taste. 

The  extracts  from  the  Journal  of  James  De  Veaux, 
must  afford  pleasure  to  the  lovers  of  spirited  sketches 
of  the  objects  of  interest  in  that  classic  land  of  spirit- 
ual existences, — and  his  observations  on  the  works 
of  the  great  masters  of  art  may  be  useful  to  his  pro- 
fession. 

Sunday,  Feb.  19.     With  S ,  M ,  M and 

R ,  went  to  visit  the  studio  of  Signor  Overbeck  in 

the  old  Cenci  palace.  We  saw  but  few  things, — all 
drawings, — figures  of  the  apostles,  which  he  has 
painted  at  one  of  Torlonia's  villas.  They  are  feel- 
ingly and  religiously  wrought  out, — the  "Triumph  of 


124  MEMOIR    OP 

Religion  and  the  A7^ts"  has  some  noble  figures, — the 
"jEJntombme7it,^^  a  cartoon  of  eight  or  ten  figures,  the 
size  of  fife,  is  solemn  and  affecting,  but  has  all  the 
rigidness  and  unpleasant  severity  of  Pertigino,  whom 
Overbeck  prefers  to  Raphael, — saying  that  "  when 
Raphael  forsook  the  school  of  Perugino,  God  forsook 
Raphael."     The  old  gentleman  (he  seems  about  six- 
ty,) received  us  gracefully  and  courteously.     He  is 
about  five  feet  ten  or  eleven  inches  high,  very  erect, 
and  has  an  eagle  eye,  fine  aquihne  nose  and  spacious 
forehead, — a  handsome  man  and  a  great  painter, — 
though  for  me,  Vernet,  Delaroche,  Coignet  and  oth- 
ers in  Paris,  are  superior, — he  has  no  pretensions  to 
colour.     Went  afterwards  to  Signor   Cmnmuccini^s* 
dwelling,  and  saw  his  private  collection, — his  studio 
requires  a  ticket  from  himself,  which  I  hope  some 
day  to  obtain.     "^   sea-porf   by    Claude, — "Venus 
and  Ado7iis^^  by  Titian, — a  small  ^^ Mother  and  C/iild,^^ 
by  Veronese, — ^^ Crucifixion^^  by  Guido,  a  Bonafazio, 
and  a  large  picture  of  a  fete  champetre  landscape, 
by   Titian,    are   magnificent   works.     They   are   all 
fine,  such  as   the  greatest  of  living  Roman  artists 
has  chosen  for  his  private  gallery,  but  those  speci- 
fied are  the  gems, 

Feb.  22.  Washington's  Birth-day.  I  have  subscri- 
bed to  the  dinner, — Dr.  Van  Rensellaer,  President, 
and  Mr.  Parish,  Vice, — will  pay  my  share,  but  not 


*  Cammuccini  died  in  September,  1844. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  125 

g-0,  as  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  inviting"  tlie  Consul, 
and  thus  sharing-  the  honors  of  the  day  with  Wash- 
ington. None  but  an  old  fellow  soldier  is  entided 
to  such  distinction.  It  is  not  in  taste,  and  I  will  not 
make  one  of  the  posse.  Walking-  this  morning-  near 
St.  Maria  Maggiore,  I  saw  the  Pope  coming-,  attended 
by  a  larg-e  cortege  of  troops  and  household  officers ; 
ran  and  kneeled  in  the  door  of  the  church,  and  so 
g-ot  nearer  than  I  could  at  even  a  presentation,  and 
was  with  the  few  other  stragglers  about  blessed  by 
the  Head ; — the  poor  beg-g-ars  actually  screamed  the 
words  "benedidone  papa"  as  he  passed  from  the 
carriag-e  to  the  church,  so  fearful  were  they  of  being- 
neglected.  The  old  man  entered, — prayed  at  several 
altars,  and  after  fifteen  minutes,  started  for  another 
church; — to-day  I  had  him  all  to  myself,  no  other 
strang-er  about, — twenty  or  thirty  poor  people  around 
who  left  their  occupations  to  g-et  blessed  were  my 
only  companions.  /  guess,  I  caug-ht  more  fleas  than 
blessings. 

Feb.  26.  The  Washington  dinner  I  hear  passed 
off  in  the  usual  way, — the  speeches  dull, — the  toasts 
stale,  and  the  wine  bad,  and  a  great  deal  of  it  drunk. 
A  nephew  of  Jerome  Bonaparte  g-ave  a  speech,  and 
an  abolition  toast,  which  was  drank  with  enthusi- 
asm,— glad  I  was  not  there,  as  I  must  have  followed 

the  lead  of  this g-uest,  and  g-iven  him  a  pill  of 

another  colour  to  swallow. 


126  MEMOIR  OP 

The  six  days  of  the  Carnival  are  over,  and  there 
are  but  two  more,  and  then  all  will  be  quiet  once 
ao-ain ; — it  is  brilliant  but  tedious, — two  or  three 
days  do  well  enous^h,  but  eight  weary  horse  and 
man.  Yet  these  are  the  only  eight  days  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  that  the  Romans  know.  The 
whole  routine  is  the  same  from  day  to  day ; — at  two 
o'clock  the  Campodoglio  sends  forth  its  merry  peal, 
and  the  masqueraders  rush  into  the  street  armed 
and  accoutred  according  to  taste, — the  Roman  soldier 
and  Italian  bandit — the  gay  Lothario  and  the  coarse 
washer -woman, — harlequin  and  the  sage  counsellor, 
are  huddled  promiscuously,  and  seem  to  come  to- 
gether upon  this  happy  occasion,  because  none  other 
ever  permits  their  proximity.  Carriages,  barouches, 
omnibuses,  all  crowded,  form  two  lines  the  whole 
length  of  the  Corso,  passing  and  repassing,  w^hilst 
the  foot  frolickers  walk  between  and  on  either  side, 
— balconies  and  windows  in  every  story  send  out 
streamers  of  variegated  silks,  and  the  loveliest  look- 
ing women  are  seen  looking  laughingly  from  every 
casement,  which  is  crowded  with  beauty.  Bunches 
of  flowers  thrown  from  hand  to  hand,  and  flung  back 
again,  keep  the  air  filled  with  bouquets,  and  give 
beauty  and  life  to  one  part  of  the  scene,  whilst  at 
another  the  millions  of  sugar  plums  showered  from 
above  and  dashed  from  below,  remind  one  more  of 
the   chilliness  of   a  snow  storm.     These  plums  are 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  127 

made  of  lime  and  flour,  cost  two  cents  a  pound, — 
they  are  carried  in  baskets,  and  are  thrown  by  hand- 
fuls  of  a  hundred  or  more,  and  burst  when  they 
are  thrown  with  force,  and  as  they  shiver  to  pieces, 
"  the  miller  and  his  men "  are  completely  eclipsed 
in  whiteness  by  the  majority  of  the  maskers.  Some 
of  them  are  larg'e  and  hard,  and  when  they  encoun- 
ter an  unprotected  spot,  sting*  severely.  The  favour- 
ite beauties  of  the  day  are  easily  distinguished  from 
the  others,  by  the  superior  coat  of  whiteninsf,  which 
they  exhibit  at  the  close  of  the  day's  sport.  At  five 
o'clock,  g-uns  are  fired, — the  "  Corso"  cleared  by 
soldiers  "  horse  and  foot,"  and  the  races  come  on. 
Eig-ht  or  ten  horses  are  broug'ht  in, — the  poor  devils 
are  covered  with  flaps  or  wing's  with  spurs  attached, 
so  at  each  jump  they  receive  the  sharp  rowels, — 
they  are  held  in  line  behind  a  rope  breast  hig-h,  and 
at  a  sig-nal,  the  rope  falls,  and  away  they  g-o,  brush- 
ing* the  crowd  on  either  side, — from  the  "  Piazza 
Popolo  "  to  the  ''  Piazza  Venetia,"  one  and  a  quarter 
miles, — where  they  are  stopped  by  a  balustrade  of 
ropes  and  hanging"  blankets,  (an  old  woman's  clothes 
line.)  The  winner  or  winners  usually  strike  a  se- 
vere blow  or  blows  against  the  rope  and  blankets, 
and  sometimes  break  away,  so  there  are  similar 
checks  beyond,  at  intervals  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet. 
The  carriages  and  maskers  are  now  again  admitted, 
and  the  same  rose  and  plum  game  is  renewed  again. 


128  MEMOIR    OF 

At  eig-ht  o'clock  begin  the  balls,  which  close  (by  law) 
at  twelve, — on  Friday  no  sport  is  permitted,  nor  on 
Sunday,  except  that  Sabbath  night,  at  twelve  o'clock, 
begins  the  "  crack  ball "  of  the  season,  which  con- 
tinues till  breakfast  time  on  Monday.  These  masked 
balls  are  the  same  one  sees  elsewhere,  except  at 
Paris,  where  they  are  very  superior, — there  every 
one  dances, — here  they  are  content  to  promenade, 
and  to  whisper  unmeaning  things  to  each  other; — a 
person  masked  attaches  himself  to  one  that  is  not,  and 
attempts  to  "  run  "  him, — this  is  flat,  unless  you  know 
more  of  him  and  his  private  affairs  than  usually  leaks 
out.  I  am  glad  there  is  to  be  an  end  of  all  this  in  two 
days, — though  six  months  hence,  if  I  am  here,  with 
true  Italian  fickleness  I  may  be  willing  for  it  again. 
March  1. — Ash  Wednesday.  Yesterday  closed  the 
Carnival, — the  weather   pretty   fair; — three   of  the 

horses  fell   on  the  slippery    ground.     S and  I 

in  costume  visited  our  friends,  and  I  worried  Mrs. 

P with  "  negro  talk."     The  scene  which  closed 

the  promenade  on  the  "  Corso  "  is  the  grand  finale, — 
the  jubilee  of  fiends, — the  carnival  of  devils !  This 
strange  mass  of  beings,  masked  and  shouting,  and 
seen  by  the  artificial  fight  of  torches,  candles,  lamps, 
etc.  etc.,  presents  to  the  imagination  an  infernal  pic- 
ture;— the  cry  of  "senza  moccolo,"  (without  taper,) 
as  they  dash  at  each  other's  light  to  put  it  out,  is 
universal,  and  keeps  up  a  continual  roar.     Now  all 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  129 

is  quiet  ag-ain,  and  one  more  carnival  lies  buried  with 
the  past ; — where  shall  I  be  when  the  season  for  its 
renewal  returns '? 


J D to 


"Rome,  March,  1843. 
In  Rome ! — have  seen  the  winter  laid  in  its  grave, 
and  have  my  eyes  refreshed  even  now  with  whole 
balconies  of  flowers,  and  trees  laden  with  blossoms — 
we  have  had  some  rainy  days, — quite  a  freshet  once, 
— some  cool  weather,  but  not  one  cold  day,  and  yet 
the  Italians  complained  of  the  severity  of  the  season 
— it  snowed  one  nig-ht,  and  the  next  day  was  Italian! 
Cloaks  are  worn,  but  it  certainly  is  for  ornament, — 
I  never  in  my  life  saw  any  thing-  to  equal  the  throw 
g-iven  to  that  article  of  dress  by  all  the  wearers,  and 
their  name  is  leg-ion, — the  shepherd,  the  beg"gar  and 
the  dandy ! !  The  cut  is  the  same, — the  texture 
marks  the  caste.  Of  the  mildness  of  the  season,  the 
best  proof  is,  that  I  have  never  experienced  a  mo- 
ment's discomfort  in  a  room  all  marbled  and  twice 
the  size  of  your  modest  ^  log-ement,'  where  I  have 
been  copying  all  winter  without  a  fire.  It  will  be  a 
glorious  thing  to  have  the  memory  of  such  a  winter, 
when  some  of  these  days  at  home  I  shall  be  hemmed 

in  by  -thick  ribbed  ice.'     But  let  the  truth  be  spoken 
17 


130  MEMOIR    OF 

—I  am  in  love, — between  Paris  and  Rome,  I  would 
repose  me  here  forever,— just  at  present  that  is  my 
mood ! 

I  have  finished,  or  nearly  so,  a  copy,  and  begun 
another  picture,  and  will  send  them  tog-ether  in 
June,  when  I  g-o  to  Venice.  About  October,  I  will 
g-o  to  Paris  or  come  here  to  spend  the  winter, — the 
only  reason  I  doubt  at  all  about  it  is,  the  cheaper 
rate  of  living-  here, — fully  one-third  difference.  The 
studies  I  wish  to  pursue  when  I  finish  the  copies, 
are  more  numerous  and  easier  of  access  at  Paris, — 
but  the  confounded  money, — tut !  I  hate  the  jing-le  of 
the  trash,  and  hate  it  more  because  I  am  beholden 
to  it, — bound  hand  and  foot,  and  can't  budge  with- 
out it, — cursed  stuff!  I  have  just  tasted  enoug-h  and 
heard  enough  to  wish  to  stay  ten  years  at  least  in 
Europe,  to  pursue  my  art  in  Germany  and  Holland, 
as  well  as  at  the  different  points  in  Italy  and  at  Paris, 
— such  works,  and  such  a  life  of  study, — material  for 
work  for  fifty  years  after,  might  be  gathered, — but 
who  talks  of  fifty  years'?  an  old  wrinkled  brow  and 
grey  beard  1 

In  some  of  my  letters  from  Florence,  I  must  have 
told  you  of  the  favour  shewn  to  native  copyists  over 
foreign  students, — the  same  system  is  practised  here, 
— it  has  one  good  effect, — it  forces  purchasers  to  get 
their  work  done  by  ItaUans,  and  thus  enables  the 
poor  devils  to  live  upon  strangers,  as  their  own  coun- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  131 

trymen  never  buy  pictures, — but  the  inconvenience 
to   those   who   copy  for   improvement,    is   certainly 

great.     This  fact  accounts  for  H 's  copies  being" 

by  ItaHans ; — to  the  student,  there  is  nothing"  else- 
where comparable  to  the  facilities  of  the  Louvre, — 
Louis  Philippe  is  truly  a  King  /" 

Poor  De  Veaux!  Little  did  he  suspect,  when  he 
penned  these  hues,  so  full  of  enthusiasm  and  hope 
and  confidence,  that  a  few  short  months  were  all  that 
were  allotted  to  his  earthly  labours!  While  the 
bright  dreams  of  usefulness  and  honour  and  the  fame 
of  the  world  were  but  just  opening  upon  his  imagi- 
nation, and  the  mists  of  gloom  and  despondency  were 
becoming  dislodged  from  his  expanding  mind, — while 
the  aspirations  after  high  excellence  now  seemed 
a  fixed  and  impelling  principle  of  his  noble  nature, 
enabling  him  to  shake  off"  the  influence  of  his  earlier 
difliculties, — while  youth  and  health  and  genius  were 
beginning  to  make  him  feel  his  powers,  and  to  see 
before  him  the  open  path  to  human  greatness, — 
how  lamentable  the  thought  that  then,  even  then,  he 
was  marked  by  the  great  Destroyer,  as  an  early 
victim  ! 

The  Journal  is  full  of  lively  pictures  of  "men  and 
things,"  and  the  notes  of  the  works  of  art  are  char- 
acteristic of  his  poetic  feeling. 


132  MEMOIR  OF 

March,  1843.     Mr.  S and  I  went  tog-ether,  to 

visit  the  Farnese  palace, — called  the  most  beautiful 
at  Rome,  as  much  for  its  exterior  as  for  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  internal  embelhshments.  Sangallo 
was  the  first  architect,  and  it  was  finished  by  M. 
Ang-elo  and  Jacques  della  Porta, — the  marbles  em- 
ployed were  taken  from  the  Cohseum !  This  and 
all  the  other  property  of  the  Farnese  family  belong 
to  the  King  of  Naples, — so  the  famous  Hercules, 
(Glycon,)  has  gone  thither  and  left  the  sarcophagus 
of  Cecilia  Metella  in  its  stead.  The  pictures  have 
all  departed,  but  the  frescoes  of  Annibale  are  here, 
and  ''bear  the  palm  alone," — there  is  nothing  in 
Rome  superior  to  them, — the  "  Triumph  of  Bacchus 
and  Ariadne''  is  a  triumph  of  art, — the  Chiaro-'scuro, 
divisional  ornaments  in  imitation  of  basso  relievo  are 
complete  delusions. 

April  1.  At  the  Cavalier  Barhieri's  studio,  saw  a 
table  made  in  Mosaic  for  the  Emperor  of  Russia, — 
composed  of  three  million  of  pieces, — occupied  three 
workmen  three  years,  and  is  the  most  splendid  thing 
of  its  kind  extant.  The  diameter  is  four  feet, — eight 
pictures  form  its  face,  eight  views  of  Rome  at  eight 
different  hours  of  the  day,  forming  "  twenty  four 
hours  at  Rome ;" — the  first  is  one  hour  before  sunrise 
within  a  few  miles  of  Rome. — the  last  is  the  Cohs- 
eum  by  moonlight,  and  the  most  beautiful  of  all, — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  133 

St.  Peters  is  very  splendidly  executed; — the  Pope 
had  it  three  days  at  the  Vatican  for  inspection,  and 
the  Cavalier  three  times  to  explain, — so  said  the 
Cavalier, — it  cost  ten  thousand  dollars. 

April  20.  Witnessed  at  Rome  an  exhibition  which 
I  often  imagined  and  wished  to  see,  but  thoug-ht  the 
spirit  of  poetic  inspiration  had  passed  away,  and  the 

days  of  improvising  numbered.     The  Sig-nora 

in  person,  dark,  fat  and  forty,  has  dispelled  the  false 
notion,  and  I  have  realized  to  the  full,  the  charm  of 
listening  to  sweet  Italian  rhyme  extempore,  from  the 
lips  of  a  real  Improvisatrice.  The  subjects  were 
handed  in  by  any  person  present,  the  lady  chose 
from  among  them,  and  then  made  choice  of  a  piece 
of  music,  which  an  assistant  played  upon  the  piano. 
During  the  first  five  minutes  or  less,  the  Signora 
stands  wrapped  in  thought,  and  then  suddenly  falling 
in  with  the  air  chants,  a  poem  or  a  sonnet, — it  seem- 
ed hard  work,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  beating 
temples,  reddened  face,  perspiring  brow,  and  ago- 
nizing movements  of  the  limbs  of  the  actrice, — the 
Itahans  applauded,  the  Signora  warmed,  and  for  two 
hours  with  slight  intermission  kept  on  the  even  tenor 
of  her  way.  She  several  times  baulked  for  a  word, 
— looked  very  unutterable  things^  turned  back  to  the 
commencement  of  a  line  or  distich,  and  went  smooth- 
ly on.     I  would  like  to  witness  it  once  a  month,  but 


134  MEMOIR    OF 

she  has  closed  with  two  exhibitions,  the  only  ones 
given  here  in  eight  or  ten  years.* 

Holy  Week  is  past, — Palm  Sunday  ushered  it  in, 
and  the  fire  works  of  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo  burnt 
it  out. 


J D to 


"Rome,  June  7,  1843. 

I  have  been  waiting-  very  impatiently  for  a  letter 
from  you,  to  tell  me  something-  about  the  picture  I 
sent  home  last  fall, — with  a  tremendous  '  Critica,' 
laying-  bare  the  enormous  deformities  of  my  first  and 
last  '  historical,' — cutting  and  slashing  at  ugly  bodies, 
is  so  familiar  to  gents  of  your  craft,  that  the  dissec- 
tion of  as  rare  and  beautiful  a  subject  as  myself,  will 
add  fervour  to  your  zeal,  and  I  shall,  no  doubt,  be 
left  like  a  boned  turkey,  minus  the  stuffing. 

I  have  do7ie  myself  into  the  semblance  of  '  Calvin 
Edson,  the  walking  skeleton,' — before  my  seventh 
month  at  Rome  is  completed,  I  shall  have  finished  all 
my  work, — two  pictures  the  size  of  the  '  Christ  and 
AngelSj'  (one  original  and  one  a  copy,)  and  three 
smaller  things.  Now  for  plans : — I  will  go  to  Flor- 
ence and  expect  to  copy  a  ^Holy  Family,^ — it  is  by 
Paul  Veronese,  never  taken  from  the  walls  to  be 

*  In  Headley's  "  Letters  from  Italy,"  (Letter  23,)  there  is  a  description  of 
this  Signora's  exhibition. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  135 

copied,  but  at  the  request  of  a  government ; — Louis 
Philippe's  has  it  down  now,  and  I  may  g-et  a  chance 
at  it, — if  I  do  not,  I  g-o  on  to  Venice  and  make  two 
there,  certainly  07ie,  and  other  studies  for  myself.  My 
copies  will  then  be  finished,  and  I  have  a  project 
ahead,  recommended  to  me  by  one  of  the  best  artists 
at  Rome, — here  it  is:  drawing-  the  human  fig-ure 
with  accuracy,  is  the  most  important  step  in  our  pro- 
fession, and  the  rock,  I  am  certain,  upon  which  the 
English  and  American  schools  have  split.  To  get 
our  fingers  dabbling  in  paint,  before  we  know  well 
the  use  of  the  porte  crayon,  has  been  the  cause  of 
many  a  promising  boy  failing  to  reahze  the  hopes  of 
friends.  I  have  become  so  fully  satisfied  with  the 
truth  of  this,  that  I  am  restless  under  the  reign  of 
colour,  and  for  a  year  at  least,  would  serve  under  that 
of  charcoal,  crayons  and  chalk.  Whatever  facility  of 
composition  a  man  may  be  blessed  with,  if  he  has  not 
the  power  of  drawing  well  the  separate  parts,  the 
whole  must  fail  to  please ;  the  idea,  however  clever, 
badly  expressed,  loses  its  force.  I  find  by  my  ac- 
quaintance with  the  first  artists  here,  that  they  have 
devoted  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  to  drawing  alone! 
from  twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  age  to  twenty  five ! 
It  is  too  late  for  me  to  trifle  thus  with  time, — besides,  I 
am  past  the  beginning.  Now  the  upshot  of  all  this 
is,  that  I  may  be  easily  comprehended  when  I  say 
that  my  earnest  wish  is  to  return  here  in  November, 


136  MEMOIR    OF 

(after  completing-  all  my  copies,)  and  devote  myself 
exclusively  to  drawing, — to  abandon  paint  for  a 
twelve-month,  and  draw  from  the  frescoes  of  Ra- 
phael and  Michael  Ang-elo  at  the  Vatican, — in  all 
that  time,  I  would  have  nothing*  (as  a  picture)  to 
shew,  as  my  work  would  be  chiefly  fig"ures  the  size 
of  life,  done  in  black  and  white  chalk.  To  others 
this  may  appear  lost  time,  but  it  is  just  the  reverse, — 
for  it  is  the  knowledg-e  and  confidence  acquired  by 
such  practice,  that  will  g^ive  a  tenfold  value  to  what- 
ever I  may  do  hereafter.  It  will  be  as  hard  a  year's 
labour  as  these  last  seven  months  in  Rome  have 
been,  and  more  profitable  to  me.  I  would  abjure 
paint  as  the  g-rand  contaminator  of  artists,  and  the 
befouler  of  clean  hands,  and  wrap  myself  in  the 
cloud  of  charcoal  dust  I  shall  raise  in  the  Vatican. 

I  have  painted  one  of  my  best  heads  for  our  friend 
Fraser,  who  is  an  honor  to  our  profession  and 
my  state, — ^A  Pilgrim^  from  nature,  which  is  really 
good,  for  me.  Present  it  to  him  in  my  name,  if,  after 
you  have  seen  it,  you  think  it  advisable. 

Hunting-don  has  sailed  from  New  York,  and  is  on 
his  way  to  Rome, — Inman  g-oes  to  settle  in  London ; 
I  must  draio  for  a  year,  and  distance  the  fraternity. 
You  will  see  by  the  picture  I  send  a  month  hence, 
how  my  last  five  or  six  months  drawing-  in  the  even- 
ning  only,  tells  in  the  larg*e  fig-ures  I  have  painted,  of 
course  much  more  difficult  than  in  small, — it  is  what 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  137 

no  American  artist  excels  in  but  Allston.  Beautiful 
colour  cannot  disg-uise  the  misshapen  limbs  of  the 
full  leng-th  portraits  in  our  country,  and  in  historical 
compositions,  where  the  fig"ures  are  varied  from  the 
plumb  hnes  of  a  sober  up-and-down  portrait,  the  dif- 
ficulties increase  tenfold.  I  am  so  desperate  about 
it,  that  between  chalk  and  charcoal,  I  fear  I  will  be  a 
case  of  asphyxia  before  next  winter  runs  out." 

^L  ^  ^  •iL'  •ilf 

-JP  Tt*  "TV"  TT  TV- 

J- Z> to . 


''Rome,  June  21,  1843. 
I  will  §"0  into  business  before  I  lose  the  fitting*  tone 
of  mind  which  is  on  me  at  present.  The  pictures 
are  finished,  and  as  I  leave  here  in  one  week  for 
Venice,  I  will  deliver  them  to  an  ag-ent  who  will 
send   them  to  New  York.     '  The  Bandit  at  Home,^ 

an  orig'inal  composition,  I  have  painted  for  Mr.  P , 

the  two  smaller  pictures  painted  from  nature,  the 
Roman  ^Beggar  GirP  and  ^A  Pilgrim  asleep ^  in  sight 
of  St.  Peterh  Dome^  I  intend,   as  litde  presents  to 

Mrs.  M and  Mrs.  M H ,   to  keep  them 

in  mind  of  me  whilst  I  am  in  the  'city  of  the  sea,' 

making"  larg^er  copies  for  M and  W .     I  hope 

these  pictures  will  please, — the  kindness  that  has 
been  extended  to  me  is  a  kind   of  dream.     I  have 

never  known  its  like, — reflecting*  sometimes  upon  it, 

18 


138  MEMOIR  OF 

I  almost  doubt  my  senses,  and  when  I  think  of  the 
increasing  run  of  good  fortune  from  the  day  I  first 
entered  your  house  in  Columbia,  I  am  tempted  to 
believe  in  the  doctrine  of  transmigration.  Every 
thing  has  changed, — up  to  that  time,  all  was  doubt  and 
almost  despair, — since  then  my  march  has  been  uni- 
formly prosperous.  My  brief  sojourn  at  the  north  is 
not  forgotten,  nor  am  I  ungrateful,  but  then  I  was 
haunted  by  the  fear,  that  after  all  my  exertion,  I 
would  not  be  able  to  give  that  assistance  to  my  family 
that  they  so  much  needed.  It  was  at  Columbia,  that 
this  fear  was  first  dispelled, — there  too,  that  a  series 
of  years,  the  happiest  I  have  ever  known,  have  been 
passed,  and  it  was  there  that  last  I  found  those  that 
have  been  every  thing  to  me.  Excuse  this, — but  I 
am  disposed  to  fly  the  track  whenever  I  think  of  my 
undeservedness,  and  the  extraordinary  liberality  of 
my  friends. 

Seven  months  residence  at  Rome,  convinces  me 
that  the  decision  of  the  learned  in  art  is  correct, — 
that  Rome  stands  without  a  competitor  as  furnishing 
the  materials  for  a  painter.  In  every  department  of 
art,  and  from  every  great  school  of  art,  examples  are 
abundantly  spread  before  us,  and  the  chef  d^ouvres  of 
the  two  sublimest  geniuses  that  painting  can  boast, 
Angelo  and  Raphael,  are  here  open  to  inspection  and 
study.  There  are  difficulties  in  finding  admittance 
to  copy  in  the  private  galleries,  (and  they  contain 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX,  139 

many  of  the  gems,)  but  in  time  you  g'et  over  this,  and 
all  is  well; — an  efficient  consul  would  mend  matters 
for  the  Americans.  Then  the  churches, — three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  in  number,  and  each  an  academy  of 
art! — the  walls  jammed  with  pictures,  and  many  of 
them  fine, — some  superb ;  independently  of  this,  the 
climate  a  piece  of  heaven  dropped  upon  earth, — and 
the  habits  and  costumes  of  the  people,  and  the  many 
splendid  religfious  festivals,  which  attract  the  won- 
dering- population  from  the  surrounding-  country,  filling- 
old  Rome  with  food  for  the  artist.  Not  a  moment 
need  be  lost, — every  g-roup  in  the  door  ways,  (they 
live  out  of  doors  at  this  season,)  is  a  picture.  See 
that  mother  and  child, — it's  the  original  of  Raphael's 
Madonna  of  the  chair !  Artists  come  here  for  one. 
year,  and  spend  jive  and  ten^ — there  is  a  continual 
inducement  to  work,  where  every  facility  is  offered, 
and  every  body  else  is  at  work, — where  a  man  can 
be  talking"  of  art  all  the  day  long  with  painters, — 
visiting-  the  studios  of  the  thousands  that  are  always 
here  from  east  and  west  and  north  and  south,  see- 
ing- what  others  do,  and  how  they  use  the  works  of 
the  great  masters  to  make  their  own  valuable.  The 
gods  be  praised!  that  my  home  is  here! — it  will  take 
'  a  long-  pull,  a  strong-  pull,  and  a  pull  altog-ether,'  to 
tear  me  from  my  footing-, — and  if  I  succeed  in  getting- 
a  start  here,  who  knows  but  I  will  be  here  to  receive 
and  do  the  honors  of  the  city  to  your  boys,  when 


140  MEMOIR    OF 

they  come  upon  their  tour  1— and  should  you  come 
yourself,  I  may  receive  you    as   Raphael  did    Leo 

X!— io  sono  contento.     S writes  me  from  New 

York  and  gives  me  a  letter  of  critiques  on  my  first 
'original/  and  if  he  does  not  fib,  the  artists  there 
were  '  struck  all  in  a  heap,' — if  such  is  the  fact,  my 
'Bandit'  will  soon  despatch  them.  The  baby  of 
the  bandit  is  considered  a  litde  the  best  baby  done 
in  Rome  this  season!  I  to-day  exhibited  it  to  my 
congregated  acquaintance,  at  my  studio,  and  received 
from  them  htde  else  than  praise,— perhaps  stuffing! 
You  will  be  candid  when  you  write,  and  make  one 

welcome  exception  to  the  general  practice. 

***** 

'  The  Bandit  at  home,'  in  the  possession  of  J.  S. 
Preston,  Esq.,  is  a  noble  work.  The  conception  is 
fine, — a  sweet  and  lovely  child  is  brought  by  the 
fond  mother,  to  win  from  his  rugged  life  the  fierce 
Brigand, — his  innocent  gambols  have  touched  the 
heart  of  the  bold  oudaw,  and  a  gentle  and  mournful 
interest  exhibits  itself  in  his  countenance  as  he  sports 
with  his  boy.  The  calm  and  softening  influence  of 
an  Italian  sky  on  the  hard  features  of  the  rocky  land- 
scape, and  the  soothing  effect  of  twilight  like  the 
mother's  anxious  love,  are  admirably  arranged  in 
keeping  with  the  character  of  the  scene.  The  gen- 
tler feelings  of  the  father  have  displaced  for  the  time 
the  influence  of  '  hatred  and  malice  and  all  unchar- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  141 

itableness/  and  the  parent  feels  the  power  of  inno- 
cence over  his  heart,  and  of  conscious  g-uilt  on  his 
mind.  The  fig-ures  are  all  the  size  of  life,  and  con- 
sidering* the  difficulty  of  drawing"  the  larg-e  figure 
correctly,  this  will  be  considered  his  g'reatest  work. 
The  drawing"  is  admirably  correct, — the  colouring" 
elaborately  rich,  and  the  g^eneral  effect  very  striking"; 
the  story  is  well  and  pleasing-ly  told,  and  as  a  work 
of  art,  this  picture  will  bear  comparison  with  any 
that  we  know  as  the  offspring"  of  American  g-enius. 
The  finish  in  detail  of  '  Christ  and  the  Angels,''  is  only 
here  surpassed  by  the  boldness  in  composition  and 
completeness  of  effect  of  the  full  sized  figures.  These 
two  originals  are  all  the  memorials  of  any  size,  of 
that  gifted  spirit,  which  has  gained,  we  hope,  instead 
of  the  immortality  of  earth,  that  which  is  eternal  in 
the  heavens ! 

The  picture  of  the  litUe  ^Beggar  Girl,^  as  well  as 
the  ^ Bandit^  and  the  ^Pilgrims,'  was  noticed  by  an 
artist  friend,  in  the  American  Journal  of  Fine  Arts ; 
and  the  following  extract  is  worthy  of  preservation 
here : 

^'■^  The  Roman  Beggar  GirV  is  rich  and  sunny  as 
her  own  native  clime;  he  found  the  original  of  this 
picture  in  a  state  of  great  destitution  on  the  steps  of 
a  church:  from  his  own  scanty  store  he  clothed  and 
placed  her  above  immediate  want,  and  greatly  la- 
mented that  he  had  not  the  means  to  send  her  to  the 


142  MEMOIR    OF 

United  States  to  be  educated.  His  soul  teemed  with 
p-oodness  and  the  kindhest  affections,  and  I  never 
knew  a  man  who  had  so  httle  of  self  in  his  nature. 
'■The  Pilgrim  to  Rome''  is  a  pretty  little  picture,  in 
which  the  Italian  costume  is  touched  with  a  masterly 
pencil.  ^The  Brigand  at  home^  was  his  last  and 
finest  production ;  it  is  a  picture  full  of  power,  unit- 
ing- g-reat  brilliancy  and  depth  of  colour  with  truth 
of  imitation.  For  beauty  nothing  can  surpass  the 
child,  and  the  affectionate  regard  of  the  father  and 
mother  are  feelingly  expressed.  From  this  we  may 
easily  imagine  what  his  mature  efforts  would  have 
been.  He  lived  long  enough  to  assert  his  title  to  a 
high  place  amongst  the  painters  of  America,  for  he 
has  produced  works  that  will  rank  permanently  with 
the  foremost.  A  copy  too  from  Rubens,  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  writer,  is  acknowledged  by  competent 
judges  to  be  one  of  the  finest  ever  painted  by  a 
modern  artist." 

The  Journal  is  again  resumed: 

June  25.  Months  have  passed  away  since  I  have 
added  a  line  to  my  Journal.  Kept  constantly  at 
work,  I  have  seen  nothing  hwi  festal  of  Easter,  which 
were  fac-similes  of  those  of  Christmas,  with  the 
exception  of  the  grand  illumination  of  St.  Peters ! 
That  is  indeed  a  wonder ! — for  one  hour  the  illumi- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  143 

nation  was  indeed  partial,  but  at  a  certain  hour  (Ave 
Maria,)  the  whole  flashed  out  upon  the  beholder, 
and  startled  me  with  its  sudden  blaze  of  splendor. 
How  many  lamps  it  requires  to  cover  this  temple  in 
a  way  to  exhibit  it  as  one  mass  of  fire,  I  cannot  tell, 
— the  expense  is  said  to  be  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 
After  all,  it  costs  the  head  of  the  church  something- 
to  keep  the  bowels  amused  !  The  Mausoleum  of  Au- 
gustus I  have  attended,  to  witness  the  antics  of  a  cir- 
cus company,  and  the  performances  of  "  Miss  Baba," 
an  elephant; — poor  Augustus!  when  he  reared  this 
huge  casement  for  the  protection  of  his  perishing 
body,  he  dreamed  not  of  the  vile  uses  to  which  it 
might  come!  The  pyramid  tomb  of  Caius  Cestus, 
built  in  three  hundred  and  thirty  days, — entirely 
covered  with  white  marble,  is  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  palms  in  height,  and  one  hundred  and  thirty  in 
breadth, — he  was  one  of  the  Septemvirs  in  the  time 
of  Augustus. 

The  theatre  of  Marcellus  is  a  splendid  remnant, — 
was  large  enough  to  contain  30,000  spectators,  is 
covered  with  large  blocks  of  travertin^ — Doric  and 
Ionic  architecture.  The  remains  of  the  gate  of  Oc- 
tavius  are  a  magnificent  array  of  Corinthian  columns, 
hemmed  in  and  partially  hidden  by  the  surrounding 
houses. 

H.  E of  Washington,  and  myself,  have  seen 

together  the  house  of  Rienzi, — the  temple  of  Vesta, — 


144  MEMOIR    OF 

the  arch  of  Janus, — and  the  Cloaca  Maxima  or  larg-e 
drain,  built  two  thousand  three  hundred  years  since, 
and  still  serving-  its  purpose.  Near  it  gushed  a  stream 
of  water,  around  which  we  saw  soldiers  and  civihans 
loitering-,  as  if  it  had  heahng-  virtues. 

We  visited  St.  Lorenzo,  outside  the  g-ate  of  the 
same  name,  and  the  "Potter's  field"  adjoining-,  where, 
in  1837,  the  cholera  victims,  fifteen  thousand,  were 
interred, — it  is  well  worth  a  visit.  The  church  is  a 
rich  old  vestig-e,  containing-  three  or  four  g-ood  pic- 
tures of  the  Bolog-nese  school, — some  heads  equal  to 
Domenichino.  There  are  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
pits  in  the  burying-  g-round,  each  about  five  feet 
square,  covered  over  with  one  larg-e  flag-  of  stone, 
easily  removed. 

On  the  15th  of  this  month,  I  witnessed  in  the  Pi- 
azza of  St.  Peter,  the  ^'Augustissimo  sacramento  della 
Corpus  Do7nini"  instituted  by  Urbin  IV.  in  1264, 
The  Pope,  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  six  or  eig-hi 
officials,  seems  to  be  kneehng-,  (but  is  in  reality  sit- 
ting-, as  the  fatig-ue  is  too  g-reat  for  the  old  man,)  and 
bears  the  body  of  the  Lord.  The  procession  moves 
from  the  church,  passes  under  the  colonnade,  and  a 
temporary  covering-  where  it  ceases,  and  round  back 
ag-ain  to  the  church.  This  has  outdone  all  the  dis- 
plays of  the  sort  that  I  have  seen,  (and  all  the  g-reat 
ones  I  have  enjoyed  the  full  benefit  of,) — the  crowd- 
ed place,  the  brilliant  costumes  of  soldiers  and  conta- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  145 

dini,  with  the  solemnity  of  the  scene,  and  the  beauty  of 

■    the  atmosphere,  rendered  the  whole  impression  ma- 

I    gical,  and  satisfies  completely  the  beholder.     There 

i    are  no  strang*ers,  or  but  few,  (painters  chiefly,)  and 

the  natives  turn   out  in  mass, — they    seem  to  hide 

themselves  at  the  fetes  of  winter,  which  really  seem 

got  up  to  amuse  strangers,  as  all  the  most  favourable 

posts  are  dealt  out  to  the  English,  French^  Russians, 

&c.,  but  at  this  season  all  is  Italian^  and  the  amount 

of  beauty  displayed  on  this  occasion,  convinces  one 

of  the  superiority  of  the  women   over  the  English, 

French  or  Americans. 

The  procession  of  St.  JViccolo  ought  to  have  taken 
place  yesterday,  but  was  postponed.  I  must  remem- 
ber it  next  year,  (if  I  am  here,)  as  it  is  said  to  out- 
vie all  others, — the  Church  of  the  Apostles  is  the 
point  to  witness  it. 

I  took  my  studio  the  middle  of  February,  and  have 
given  it  up  after  four  months  close  work ; — the  three 
months  previous  I  was  pretty  well  engaged  at  the 
Colonna  palace,  copying  '^Rebecca  at  the  fountain" — 
at  my  studio  I  have  painted  the  "Bandit,"  three 
figures  the  size  of  life, — the  ^^Beggar  Girl"  and  the 
"  Young  Pilgrim"  and  the  "Head  of  a  Pilgrim."  All 
are  left  to  be  sent  to  their  homes.  For  this  season 
my  labours  are  closed  at  Rome.  I  hope  nothing  will 
prevent  my  return   here, — all  my  future  hopes  are 

pending  upon  the  use  I  make  of  next  winter, — to 
19 


146  MEMOIR    OF 

draw  incessantly  is  my  fixed,  firmly-rooted  determi- 
nation, which  nothing-  ought  to  dislodge.  May  I  be 
firm  in  obeying  the  dictates  of  reason  and  pure  con- 
viction ! 

June  27,  1843.  The  Academy  of  St.  Luke  inter- 
ested me  very  much.  ^'■St.  Luke  paintijig  the  Virgin" 
by  Raphael,  is  valuable  for  the  portrait  of  Raphael, 
— he  has  painted  himself  looking  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  Saint, — the  head  of  Luke  is  inspiration's  self; 
— Guido's  ^'•Fortune  "  is  a  lovely  female  figure,  beau- 
tiful throughout, — the  most  graceful  form  by  that 
master  I  ever  beheld, — ^^ZfUcretia  and  Tarquin"  by 
Guido,  for  colour,  is  equal  to  Titian.  Harlowe's  pic- 
ture of  Cardinal  Wolsey  delighted  me, — the  two 
Salvators  and  the  Claude  are  fine. 

June  28. — The  Vigil  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, — 
to-day  was  a  splendid  illumination  throughout  the 
city, — St.  Peters  did  not  make  so  splendid  a  show 
as  at  Easter,  owing  to  a  strong  wind  which  discom- 
posed the  lamps,  still  it  was  superb,  and  cannot  be 
seen  elsewhere. 

At  10  o'clock  went  to  St.  Peters, — saw  the  sta- 
tue of  bronze  decked  out  in  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
Pope! — looked  exactly  like  a  huge  blackey  giving 
instruction  to  a  set  of  dummies.  He  makes  the 
letter  H  of  the  dumb  alphabet  with  his  right  fist,  the 
fingers  of  which  were  covered  with  rings ; — the  Pope 
and   Cardinals  and   other  worthies   of  the  church, 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  147 

passed  before  it  in  solemn  procession,  all  saluting*  it 
as  they  came  near.  Saw  here  to-day  the  loveliest  g-irl 
I  have  seen  these  ten  years, — would  rather  have  her 
for  a  painter's  wife,  than  any  other  larg-e  prize, — 
even  the  Benedict  of  us  Americans  at  Rome,  was 
ready  to  worship  her ; — of  course  I  shall  never  see 
her  more,  as  I  leave  Rome  after  to-morrow, — per- 
haps forever! — adieu,  sweet  lady,  a  strang-er,  brief 
sojourner  in  your  land,  will  think  of  you  and  your 
heavenly  smile  when  a  broad  ocean  lies  betwixt 
you  and  him !  Went  to  see  the  girandola, — fire- 
works,— not  so  beautiful  as  the  last  display, — the 
representation  of  the  interior  of  the  castle  on  fire, 
surpassed  all  other  shows  of  this  sort  I  ever  saw. 

June  30.  Arrang-ed  my  passport, — six  pauls  to 
the  police,  and  two  dollars  to  the  American  Consul ; 
— went  to  the  Borg-hese  villa,  (the  day  before,  Craw- 
ford the  sculptor  and  myself  could  not  find  the 
custode,)  and  saw  Canova's  Pauline.  This  statue 
is  very  much  draped,  and  I  see  nothing-  surprising- 
in  a  French  woman  having-  served  as  a  model,* — the 
arrangement  of  the  hands  and  feet  is  horribly  affect- 
ed,— the  body  is  fine,  and  the  head  a  portrait  of  a 
court  beauty, — nothing-  more.  The  splendid  saloons, 
— antique  alabaster  Vi  ses, — yellow  antique  columns, 
the  painting-s  of  the  ceiling-s, — and  the   "  Venus  and 

*  When  Pauline  was  asked  how  she  could  consent  to  sit  for  her  statue,  with 
the  utmost  "  sang  froid"  she  replied,  "  it  was  not  cold,  there  was  a  fire  in  the 


148  MEMOIR  OF 

Satyr  ^^  of  a  French  artist  named  Gagneau,  are  to 
me  more  attractive  than  the  sister  of  Napoleon. 

July  1, — My  last  hours  in  Rome!  at  10  o'clock  I 
start  for  Florence.  There  have  been  forty  days  of 
uninterrupted  sunsets,  as  well  as  clear  blue  skies  all 
the  day  long- ! — my  reg"ret  is  allayed  at  the  strong- 
hope  of  returning"  here  in  six  months  or  less.  I  have 
tried  to  use  my  seven  months  well,  and  that  is  an- 
other consolation ; — ^before  I  leave  thee  forever,  thou 
"  Niobe  of  nations,"  I  hope  to  have  extracted  much 
that  will  serve  me  in  my  far  off  home, — where  else 
can  a  painter  live  more  contentedly  than  among"  thy 
treasures? 

T ,  C ,  and  E were  at  the  office  back 

of  the  "  Piazza  Colonna,"  to  see  me  off, — gave  my 
old  hat  to  a  poor  cripple,  and  put  my  cap  on  my  pate, 
— shook  my  friends  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  rolled 
off  for  the  "Piazza  Popolo."  We  had  a  fat  g"ood  na- 
tured  Italian  among  our  passeng"ers, — from  Montepul- 
ciana, — he  loved  to  run  me  about  the  want  of  refine- 
ment, etc.  in  the  United  States,  but  all  in  g"ood  humor, 
— a  real  republican  at  heart,  and  prays  for  our  long  life. 
The  Frenchman  and  wife  were  g-ood  companions, — 
as  loving"  and  lively  as  twenty-one  and  eighteen,  in- 
stead of  forty  and  thirty-seven.  In  forty-two  hours, 
day  and  night,  we  accomplished  our  distance,  (about 
two  hundred  miles,)  and  I  found  myself  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning"  trying"  to  find  my  way  into  Mr.  Graz- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  149 

zini's  house,  but  in  vain, — the  servants  were  all  abed, 
— at  last  one  fat  female  opened  ihe  door,  but  could 
not  answer  me  as  to  empty  rooms,  etc. — so  I  left  my 
bag-g-ag-e  and  went  to  the  "  Caffe," — after  two  hours 
returned,  and  had  my  things  taken  up  stairs  and  found 
an  empty  chamber.  I  dressed  and  went  out  before 
the  landlady  had  risen,  and  it  was  not  till  night  that 
I  saw  her, — she  had  guessed  who  it  was. 

I  saw  Powers  and  Brown,  the  painter,  on  the  3d 
of  July,  and  dined  with  Brown  on  the  "  g-lorious 
fourth !"  Poor  Cleveng-er  was  off  to  Leghorn  for  his 
health,  but  returned  looking-  very  badly, — the  doctor 
pronounces  it  livei'  complaint, — poor  fellow !  what  a 
terrible  blow  to  his  wife  and  litde  ones,  as  well  as 
the  loss  to  art  and  his  many  friends!  I  sincerely 
hope  he  may  g^et  through,  and  live  to  add  to  his  fame 
and  fortune. 

Brown,  the  sculptor,  and  H ,  a  painter,  are  here 

and  talk  of  g'oing-  to  Rome  for  the  winter.  Tivoli 
shewed  me  a  "e/b/m  of  Bologna,^^  and  g-ave  me  proofs 
of  it, — had  a  nice  chat  with  an  old  sick  monk  in  the 
cloister  of  the  Capuchins  in  Borg-o  og-ni  santii, — he 
shewed  me  the  iron  g-rape  vine  frame  in  the  garden, 
about  two  hundred  yards  long,  supported  by  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pillars,  thirty  feet  high, — a 
Medici  work. 

Six  o^clock,  Sunday.  After  a  pleasant  week  at 
Florence,  started  for  Bologna,  sixty  two  miles,  and 


150  MEMOIR    OP 

"did  it"  in  eighteen  hours, — had  a  cool  mountain  air 
all  nig-ht, — slept  well  with  my  dull  companions.  The 
road  is  one  continual  ascent,  and  is  not  as  beautiful 
as  one  is  accustomed  to  in  "  these  parts."  How  very 
dull  this  journalizing  is! — I  love  to  talk  over  these 
matters,  but  writing-  is  dull  work; — however,  I  must 
make  these  trifling  notes  to  refer  to  and  talk  about. 

My  padrona  and  husband  at  Rome  cheated  me  up 
to  the  last  moment, — that  last  caper  about  backing 
the  expenses,  oil,  boots,  etc.,  one  month,  was  U)o 
good, — it  caught  me,  but  in  Florence,  looking  over 
the  bills,  I  found  out  how  complete  a  villain  her  hus- 
band is, — he  is  sure  of  the  gallows,  that  fellow. 

Bologna,  June  10,  1843.  Rome  must  answer  for 
all  my  sins.  My  sojourn  there  has  caused  a  revolu- 
tion in  me  as  regards  «7t.  Reynolds  has  always  been 
a  favourite  with  me,  and  this  morning,  with  his  Lec- 
tures under  my  arm,  I  entered  the  Academy  of  Fine 
Arts  in  this  city,  where  the  finest  works  of  his  fa- 
vourite Ludovico  Caracci,  are  collected  together.  In 
their  presence  I  read  his  eulogium,  and  as  I  turned 
from  the  book  to  each  picture  he  mentions,  nothing 
but  sad  disappointment  met  me  at  every  turn.  I  really 
dislike  the  manner  of  colouring,  and  think  Domeni- 
chino,  Guercino,  and  even  his  own  brother  Annibale 
far  preferable.  His  ''Matthew"  where  Christ  calls 
him,  is  a  fine  figure,  and  his  ''John preaching"  a  sol- 
emn, impressive  scene,  but  dingy  and  indistinct  to 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  151 

assist  in  making*  out  that  effect.  Guiclo's  ^^Miirder  of 
the  Innocents  ^^  and  Domenichino's  ^^ St.  Peter  Martyr 
Inquisitore"  are  my  favourites  in  this  g-allery.  The 
fig-ure  of  St.  Paul  is  noble, — there  is  a  bad  copy  of  it 
in  St.  Louis  at  Rome,  called  Guido.  If  I  had  the 
disposal  of  the  g-allery,  the  earth  should  soon  cease 
to  g-roan  under  the  weight  of  such  trash  as  ^'■Magda- 
/en  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,^^  by  Vasari,  etc.  etc.  In  all 
my  life  (except  at  the  Barberini  palace  at  Rome,)  I 
have  never  been  so  completely  frustrated  in  my 
hopes  and  expectations, — I  left  the  g-allery  sorry  that 
I  ever  entered  it. 

I  went  to  the  Sampled  palace,  and  there  old  Sir 
Joshua  is  rig-ht, — the  frescoes  of  the  three  Caracci 
are  superb,  and  the  two  last  chambers  by  Guercino 

are  unrivalled.     '■^Hercules  and ," — but  such  a 

start  at  the  sight  of  a  picture  I  never  expected  to 
g-ive! — there  is  in  the  figure  of  Hercules  not  the 
slightest  distortion  or  theatrical  effect, — but  the  calm, 
powerful  god,  conscious  of  his  ability  to  destroy  his 
enemy,  seems  almost  unconsciously  to  have  twined 
his  arms  around  him, — the  last  wild  cry  and  crack- 
ling" of  bones  is  terrific!  the  colour  is  beautiful, — the 
only  defect  I  thought  I  saw  in  the  drawing",  is  the 
right  hand  of  Hercules, — it  comes  too  far  round 
upon  his  left  arm.  "  The  infant  Hercules  "  in  the  next 
chamber,  is  a  gem.     "^  storm^''^  by  Salvator  Rosa,  or 


152  MEMOIR    OF 

some  other  able  painter,  is  very  fine, — the  figures 
make  no  doubt  it  is  a  Rosa, 

July  II.  The  Cemetery  is  the  chief  beauty  and 
charm  of  Bolog-na, — at  least  so  it  has  proved  to  me. 
All  the  works  of  the  Caracci  have  failed  to  interest 
me  as  much  as  this  place  of  burial ;  it  was  commen- 
ced only  forty-two  years  since,  and  the  least  of  the 
wonder  is,  that  in  so  short  a  space  of  time  so  much 
that  is  beautiful  and  finished  should  have  been  as- 
sembled. I  doubted  that  a  sufficient  number  of  as 
capable  artists  could  be  found  in  Italy  to  accomplish 
so  much.  The  entrance  to  it  has  four  mourning' 
fig-ures  over  the  gate ; — it  is  a  good  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  city  walls,  passing  out  of  the  gate  St.  Isaiah. 
The  painted  or  fresco  tombs  are  no  longer  permitted, 
as  they  have  faded  rapidly, — nothing  but  marble 
hereafter, — the  designs  of  many  of  the  monuments 
are  in  plaster  as  yet,  the  marbles  being  unfinished. 
A  figure  of  Eternity  veiled,  with  a  snake  in  a  circle  in 
her  hand,  and  a  child  leading  a  female  to  the  tomb  to 
deposite  an  urn,  struck  me  as  being  a  chef  d^ouvre. 
The  principal  divisions  are  like  immense  cloisters, — 
some  parts  appropriated  for  adults,  others  to  children 
and  some  to  whole  families, — the  poor  are  buried  in 
the  centre  of  the  vast  enclosure, — safely  hemmed  in 
are  the  plebeians,  by  a  wahed  marble  casement,  and 
pure  patrician  dust,    A  splendid  portico  of  six  hun- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  153 

dred  and  forty  arches,  and  about  a  mile  in  leng-th, 
winds  its  serpentine  leng-th  along'  from  near  the  Cem- 
etery up  to  the  temple  of  St.  Luke  on  Mount  of  the 
Guards — a  most  remarkable  and  beautiful  thing-  to 
behold.     The  Church  at  the  Cemetery,  {St.  Michael^ 

T  think,)  has  some  fine  frescoes  by ,  from  whom 

it  is  apparent  Guido  borrowed  largely, — the  ^^  Christ 
of  the  MounV^  and  ^^  Crucifixion^^^  are  especially 
g"ood; — a  picture  by  Elizabeth  Savani,  dated  1658, 
outstrips  all  the  female  competitors  in  art.  She  was 
the  daug-hter  of  a  painter,  and  poisoned  by  one  of 
the  g-allant  male  aspirants  to  the  honors  which  she 
won.  ^^  John  baptizing  Christ^'  is  the  subject, — - 
figures  full  size  of  life,  and  fifty  of  them !  It  pleases 
me  better  than  any  other  picture  of  the  same  subject 
I  know,— the  artist's  portrait  is  painted  in  the  group 
to  the  right  of  the  spectator, — a  child  is  taking  milk 
from  the  bosom,  a  sweet  face  and  I  suppose  a  young 
mother, — she  was  twenty-seven  years  old  when 
poisoned. 

The  Church  of  St.  Domenic  I  went  to  see,  as  in 
duty  bound, — how  wearied  I  am  of  churches ! — the 
tomb  of  its  titulary  saint  is  overloaded  with  sculpture, 
but  much  good  work  and  some  beautiful  figures. 
St.  Peter  has  a  rich  Corinthian  front,  and  contains 
the  last  frescoes  of  L.  Caracci.  St.  Paul  and  St. 
Nicholas,  are  worth  a  visit  from  the  curious  in  archi- 
tecture. The  two  leaning  towers, — AsineUi,  three 
20 


154  MEMOIR    OF 

hundred  and  seven  feet  high,  indines  five  feet,  but  it 
does  not  seem  to  lean  at  all, — the  other  called  Gares- 
endi,  (after  the  persons  who  caused  them  to  be  built,) 
is  only  one  hundred  and  forty-four  feet,  and  leans  like 
a  g-ood  one, — they  are  humbugs  after  seeing  the 
one  at  Pisa.  The  fountain  of  Neptune  in  the  grand 
''Place,"  with  its  bronze  figures  by  John  of  Bologna, 
is  to  me  a  stiff,  formal,  monstrous  and  vulgar  thing. 

Thursday^  13th  July.  I  quitted  Bologna  at  mid- 
day, and  in  five  hours  the  diligence  had  borne  me  to 
Ferrara ; — the  road  is  a  perfect  level,  and  scarcely  a 
pebble  jarred  the  monotony  of  the  journey.  Two 
rows  of  poplar  trees  lined  the  road  on  either  side 
for  ten  miles,  and  thus  shut  out  from  our  view,  for 
that  space,  the  groves  of  olives  festooned  with  vines. 
I  strolled  about  the  grass  grown  streets  a  couple  of 
hours,  and  in  the  venerable  Cathedral,  saw  a  good 
copy  of  part  of  Angelo's  '^Last  Judgment"  The 
former  ducal  palace,  now  inhabited  by  the  legate,  is 
a  severe  old  strong-hold, — surrounded  by  its  moat,  it 
looks  a  miniature  Venice.  I  ate  a  bad  dinner  at 
"The  three  Crowns,"  where  it  appears  from  the  in- 
scriptions and  painted  coat  of  arms,  that  many  of  the 
European  crowned  heads  have  passed  a  night  here; 
among  them  Maria  Louisa,  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Tuscany  and  Christina. 

Friday^  July  14.  At  four  o'clock  this  morning,  I 
stepped  into  the  diligence  and  resumed  my  journey, — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  155 

after  three  hours  arrived  at  the  river  Po  and  crossed 
its  famous  flood,  which  took  us  about  twenty  minutes. 
We  were  now  in  the  power  of  the  Austrian,  and  he 
immediately  set  about  to  prove  the  fact, — we  were 
"brought  to"  in  a  douane  office,  our  effects  exam- 
ined, and  we  were  detained  at  least  one  hour,  and 
all  hands  as  hungry  as  jackalls.  Found  breakfast  at 
nine  o'clock  and  went  on  till  one,  when  the  famous 
town  of  Padua  took  and  held  us  for  an  hour, — in  that 
time  we  saw  nothing  but  its  grand  "caffe"  and  fine 
piazza,  but  will  trip  it  there  some  day  from  Venice. 
From  Padua  we  came  through  a  beautiful  country, 
passing  villages  and  villas  at  every  mile, — a  complete 
garden  for  the  rest  of  the  road  to  Venice,  passing  by 
Fusina.  About  five  miles  from  the  city  we  took  a 
bark  and  soon  stopped  at  the  custom  house,  for  a  few 
minutes; — then  we  followed  up  the  windings  of  the 
tortuous  canal.  About  seven  o'clock,  (dusk,)  the  city 
was  discernible  seated  on  the  waters,  and  lookinsf 
in  the  twilight  like  a  streak  of  fight  in  the  horizon 
dividing  the  water  from  the  sky, — but  its  towers  and 
mosque-like  domes  soon  rose  above  the  marshes,  and 
"the  city  of  the  sea,"  the  wonder  of  aU  wonders  that 
I  have  yet  seen,  came  fuU  upon  me.  At  nine  o'clock 
I  was  at  the  "Leone  Bianco,"  No.  50,  and  at  ten  was 
seated  with  my  fellow  travellers  at  a  snug  dinner. 
Saturday^  July  15.  Started  from  my  bed  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  threw  open  the  window  of  my  chamber 


156  MEMOIR    OP 

to  look  upon  Venice.     The  Grand  Canal  dotted  with 
g-ondolas,  and  a  portion  of  the  bridg-e  of  Rialto,  first 
struck  my  eye, — this  was  enough, — I  knew  from  that 
moment  that  I  was  not  to  be  disappointed, — painting's 
and  engraving's  have  so  familiarized  me  with  the  city, 
that  I  feel  as  though  I  had  sojourned  here  for  years, 
besides,  Venice,  seen  at  any  one  spot,  is  Venice  in 
every  place.     Though  the  palaces  on  the  Grand  Ca- 
nal are  the  finest  sights,  still  those  in  the  smaller 
canals  rise  as  majestically,  if  not  as  gaily  from  the 
water,  and  even  more  picturesquely,  as  in  most  pla- 
ces the  darkness  of  the  lesser  canals,  and  the  accu- 
mulation of  sea  weed  assists  in  the  effect.     I  dressed 
and  descending,  met,   acting  as  head  waiter  in  the 
hotel,  a  negro  from  Newbern,  N.  C,  who  has  been 
sixteen  years  in  Europe.     Walked  over  the  Rialto 
bridge,  took  coffee  and  was  cheated  out  of  a  Zwan- 
ziger  and  a  half  in  changing  a  Napoleon.     Took  a 
gondola  for  the  ^'■Belle  Arti,^^ — went  bounding  in,  and 
found  L — —  in  a  minute.     Poor  R— —  is  sick  at 
home.     I  took  a  gondola,  went  for  my  baggage  and 
am  installed  with  them,— the  rest  of  the  day  passed 
in  chatting,  etc. 

Sunday,  July  16.  To  Place  of  St.  Mark  and  the 
pictures  of  the  Ducal  palace.  The  magnificent  group 
of  buildings  that  surround  this  antique  pile  I  can- 
not and  will  not  attempt  to  describe, — my  memory 
must  serve  me ; — the  profusion  of  marbles,  columns. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUJC. 


157 


bronzes  furnished  by  the  East,  when  conquered  by 
the  Venetians,  are  here  cong-regated  tog-ether  to  form 
one  beautiful  thing.  There  are  five  hundred  columns 
of  Verde  antique  among  the  precious  ornaments, 
and  in  the  church,  all  that  one  sees  is  Mosaic,  gilt, 
bronze  or  eastern  marbles!  The  architecture  is 
the  Arabian  Greek, — its  buildings  occupied  near  one 
hundred  years,  from  976  to  1071, — the  ceiling  is  Mo- 
saic, worked  from  designs  of  many  artists,  Titian  and 
Pordenone  among  others.  In  the  evening,  from  half 
past  seven  to  half  past  nine,  the  piazza  was  crowded 
with  promenaders,  to  listen  to  the  music  of  fifty-six 
of  the  best  musicians  in  the  world, — a  feast  enjoyed 
three  times  a  week, — what  more  can  a  man  desire  7 
— an  unequalled  climate, — the  most  splendid  Piazza, 
bounded  by  the  richest  architecture, — lovely  women 
passing  to  and  fro,  with  music  to  throw  its  melting 
sweetness  over  all. 

Mondmj,  Tuesday^  Wednesday.  Was  engaged 
sight-seeing, — floated  away  through  many  a  dark 
winding  passage  to  the  Churches  of  St.  Francesco 
della  Vigna,  where  there  is  little  to  see,  St.  John  and 
St.  Paul,  where  there  is  much,  very  much.  The 
monuments  of  some  of  the  Doges  are  the  chief  at- 
tractions,— to  me,  the  picture  of  ''Peter  Martyr^'  by 
Titian.*     This  is  the  grandest  in  fines  and  has  more 

*  Northcote,  in  his  Life  of  Titian,  says: — "This  composition  is  the  most 
celebrated  of  any  he  ever  painted,  being  the  best  understood  of  all  his  works ; 
and  I  think  that  it  is  justly  deserving  of  the  name  given  to  it,  and  by  which  it 
is  universally  known,  "The  Picture  imthouta  fault." 


158  MEMOIR  OP 

of  the  larg-eness  or  greatness  of  Ang'elo,  than  any 
thing-  of  Titian  I  ever  saw, — the  whole  picture  is 
desig-ned,  drawn,  and  painted  in  the  feehng  of  the 
g-reat  Tuscan,  and  the  effect  is  terribly  and  wonder- 
fully wrought  out, — paint  can  do  no  more.  The 
flying  figure  is  a  triumph  in  art,  and  the  foreshort- 
ened one  is  worthy  of  M.  Angelo, — the  back  ground 
nothing  can  surpass, — mighty,  vast,  over-spreading 
branches,  winding  out  against  the  blue  sky,  give  a 
fulness  to  this  part  of  the  picture,  in  my  opinion  with- 
out a  parallel.  "jT/ie  Crucifixion ^^^  by  Tintoretto,  is 
a  finished  specimen  by  that  great  master. 

Maria  Gloriosa  de  Frari.  Here  are  Doges  again, 
— one  monument  seventy  feet  high  and  five  wide,  six 
stories,  nineteen  figures  larger  that  life,  by  Nicolo 
Tron  (1472.)  Canova's  is  also  here,  a  huge  white 
marble  pyramid,  with  open  door,  and  a  line  of  figures 
marching  in  Indian  file  to  deposite  his  ashes,  which 
the  foremost  figure  carries  in  an  urn, — a  poor  affair, 
except  for  the  mechanism,  and  proportions  of  some 
of  the  figures.  Titian  lies  buried  here,  and  a  splen- 
did monument  is  now  being  erected  over  his  remains. 
His  superb  votive  picture  over  the  altar  of  the  Pa- 
saro  is  here,  and  is  one  of  his  best  works, — there  are 
parts  of  it  more  beautiful  in  execution  than  any  of  his 
other  pictures, — more  finished  in  its  details  it  cer- 
tainly is,  and  I  am  sure  was  a  favorite  with  him. 

Scuola  san  Bocco, — all  the  ceilings  and  walls  by 
Tintoretto,  who  was  eighteen  years  engaged  here, — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  159 

the  ^^  Annunciation^^^  and  ^^The  Resurrection ^^^  are  the 
best; — they  all  seem  hurried  in  execution  and  too 
scenic  in  touch.  Feeling-  and  poetry  are  always  pre- 
sent in  this  master,  but  the  rude  boldness  of  his 
manner  makes  him  appear  careless.  His  ''Crucijix- 
ion,^^  considered  his  chef  d^ouvre,  is  not  equal  to  his 
'^St.  Mark"  at  the  academy. 

Went  with  R and  L to  St.  Sebastian,  to 

see  the  P.  Veronese,  i.  e.  the  picture  of  ^^Two  Martyi^s" 
led  to  execution  encourag-ed  by  St.  Sebastian,  and 
for  splendid  effect  of  colour  and  light  and  shade,  P. 
Veronese  is  here  even  better  than  in  his  other  g^org-e- 
ous  works  at  the  Academy, — it  is  the  very  libidinous- 
ness  of  colour  ! — a  weary  drowsy  languor,  a  delicious 
repose  creeps  over  one  in  gazing  upon  it,  so  sweet 
and  entirely  harmonious  is  this  picture.  The  altar 
piece  is  exquisite, — the  angels  lovely. 

Went  alone  in  the  evening  to  the  Piazza  of  ^S*^. 
Mark, — sat  down  at  the  base  of  the  winged  lion  to 
enjoy  the  sea  breeze,  and  think  over  the  casualties  of 
life,  but  lulled  by  the  sweetness  of  night  and  the  soft 
sea  air,  I  dozed  my  time  away,  and  'twixt  waking 
and  sleeping,  thought  more  of  my  past  time  and  dis- 
tant friends,  than  of  subdued  cities  and  their  buried 
heroes. 

Thursday,  July  20.  Picture  hunting  for  my  copies, 
— there  are  two  pictures  in  the  Academy,  but  that 
institution  closes  to-morrow,  and  does  not  re-open 


160  MEMOIR    OF 

till  September,  to  g"ive  room  for  a  modern  exhibition. 
I  cannot  lose  five  weeks,  so  must  paint  elsewhere. 

Friday  J  21.     Went  in  the  evening-  to  the  palace  of 

St.  Mark,  and  met  K ,  and  with  him  and  H , 

and  an  Italian  painter,  went  to  the  Theatre, — the 
performance  was  pleasing",  and  the  prima  donna 
lovely ; — at  twelve  it  was  over, — we  retired  to  take 
beer,  and  sat  till  one  o'clock  discussing-  art.  At  half 
past  one,  in  the  stillness  of  nig-ht,  slid  in  the  gondola 
to  the  door  of  my  dwelhng,  and  g-ently  crept  to  bed. 

Sunday,  July  23, — night.  What  a  gorg-eous  city ! 
— a  more  than  fairy  dream, — the  palaces  that  spring- 
from  the  water  on  either  side,  all  differ  in  their  archi- 
tectural forms,  and  each  a  study  for  the  artist !  What 
pictures  might  be  formed  by  this  dim  Hg-ht,  from  the 
quaint  and  rich  carvings  on  the  beautiful  facades ! 
The  green  sea  laving  the  old  and  venerable  bases 
with  its  soft  flow,  and  hanging  its  rank  weed  upon 
their  sides !— the  silent  gondola  gliding  over  the  glassy 
surface,  leaves  you  to  the  thought  that  you  are  borne 
by  zephyrs, — no  steeled  horses'  hoof  nor  jaunting  car 
to  mar  the  sweet  delusion, — naught  but  the  music 
that  nighdy  floats  across  the  dark  canals,  or  the  hap- 
py laugh  of  some  Venetian  beauty,  ever  disturbs  the 
harmony  of  this  enchanting  abode. 

July  24  and  25.  Still  undecided  between  the  Du- 
cal palace  and  St.  Sebastian, — visited  both  separately, 
and  each  so  beautiful  that  I  cannot  as  yet  choose  be- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  161 

tween  them.  I  met  the  captain  of  a  barque  lying-  here, 
— went  to  a  garden  and  sate  an  hour  with  him, — had 
cheese  and  bread  and  g"ood  beer.     He  is  a  Virg-inian, 

an  old  school-mate  of  Mr.  G ,  of  Charleston, — 

talked  of  home  and  the  neg^ro  servants,  and  how 
favourably  they  contrast  with  whites  in  the  same 
capacity. 

Wednesday,  Jidy  26.  Began  to-day  to  work  at  the 
altar  piece  in  the  church  of  St.  Sebastian,  by  Paul 
Veronese, — the  upper  part  composed  of  the  Virg-in 
and  child,  listening-  to  the  concert  of  three  ang-els, 
whilst  two  others  support  the  easy  flowing  robes  of 
the  holy  mother.     It  is  for  W.  H — — ,  Jr.     I  received 

to-day  two  letters, — one  from  W ■,  the  other  from 

Dr.  G ,  telling  me  of  the  success  of  my  original 

picture  of  "  Christ  fed  by  Angels,^^  painted  in  Florence 
last  year, — sent  home  eight  months  ago, — time  has 
flown  rapidly  by,  and  I  am  passing  with  it, — sic  tran- 
sit gloria  mundi  t 

July  27.  Worked  to-day  at  St.  Sebastian,  and  got 
in  the  drawing  of  my  picture  to  begin  colouring  to- 
morrow ; — read  a  little  of  the  "  Marino  Faliero"  of 
Byron, — the  soliloquy  of  Lioni  after  the  ball,  gives 
the  most  complete  portrait  of  Venice. 

"  The  high  moon  sails  upon  her  beauteous  way, 
Serenely  smoothing  o'er  the  lofty  walls 
Of  those  t^ll  piles  and  sea-girt  palaces, 
Whose  porphyry  pillars,  and  whose  costly  fronts, 
Fraught  with  the  orient  spoil  of  many  marbles, 

21 


162  MEMOIR    OF 

Like  altars  ranged  along  the  broad  canal, 

Seem  each  a  trophy  of  some  mighty  deed 

Rear'd  up  from  out  the  waters,  scarce  less  strangely 

Than  those  more  massy  and  mysterious  giants 

Of  architecture,  those  Titanian  fabrics 

Which  point  in  Egypt's  plains  to  times  that  have 

No  other  record.    All  is  gentle :  nought 

Stirs  rudely ;  but  congenial  with  the  night, 

Whatever  walks  is  gliding  like  a  spirit. 

The  tinklings  of  some  vigilant  guitars 

Of  sleepless  lovers  to  a  wakeful  mistress, 

And  cautious  opening  of  the  casement,  shewing 

That  he  is  not  unheard ;  while  her  young  hand, 

Fair  as  the  moonlight  of  which  it  seems  part. 

So  delicately  white,  it  trembles  in 

The  act  of  opening  the  forbidden  lattice, 

To  let  in  love  through  music,  makes  his  heart 

Thrill  like  his  lyre-strings  at  the  sight ;— the  dash 

Phosphoric  of  the  car,  or  rapid  twinkle 

Of  the  far  lights  of  skimming  gondolas, 

And  the  responsive  voices  of  the  choir 

Of  boatmen  answering  back  with  verse  for  verse ; 

Some  dusky  shadow  chequering  the  Realto ; 

Some  glimmering  palace  roof,  or  tapering  spire, 

Are  all  the  sights  and  sounds  which  here  pervade 

The  ocean-bom  and  earth-comcmanding  city. 

How  sweet  and  soothing  is  this  hour  of  calm ! 

I  thank  thee,  night."— Act  IV. 


To-day  I  met  K at  the  Piazza,  who  told  me 

he  had  seen  in  GaHg-nani  mention  of  the  death  of 
Hugh  S.  Legare,  of  Charleston,  S.  C.  It  is  but  three 
months  since  he  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State, 
after  many  years  of  labor,  which,  with  his  great  na- 
tural talents,  made  him  perhaps  the  most  finished  and 
chastest  orator  of  the  day.     Requiescat  in  pace ! 

July  28  and  29. — Work — work — work,  at  St.  Se- 
bastian.  The  church  is  opened  for  our  accommoda- 
tion at  six  o'clock,  and  kept  open  until  Jive,  thus  giving 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  163 

US  eleven  hours ; — these  Catholics  are  certainly  very- 
amiable  tovv^ards  us  painters.  The  only  interruption 
to  our  labour  is  one  minute  during  the  daily  service 
of  mass,  vv^hen  the  bell  tinkles  in  indication  of  the 
holy  presence, — we  withhold  our  hand  from  the  can- 
vass, and  bow  our  heads, — even  this  is  not  expected 
from  us,  but  we  have  adopted  it  as  something-  that 
would  please  the  congregation.  All  this  looks  like 
tolerance,  and  is. 

I  have  just  paid  my  breakfast  bill  for  eight  days, 
— (coffee  one  tumbler, — four  breads, — two  to  eat  at 
the  church,) — three  hundred  and  eighty-four  centesi- 
mi, — seventy-five  cents! — and  this  is  luxurious! — I 
might  do  it  for  less ! 

July  30.  Took  a  gondola  at  two  o'clock,  and  ac- 
companied by  Rossiter  and  Mr.  B ,  went  to  the 

Lido, — took  provisions  along,  and  chose  a  shady  spot 
in  the  ancient  (now  proscribed)  Jews'  burying-ground, 
and  made  our  pic-nic  among  sculptured  tombs!  We 
ran  over  to  the  beach  and  saw  about  two  hundred 
men  frolicking  naked  in  the  surf,  and  women  and 
children  of  both  sexes  standing  around  enjoying  the 
sport, — what  a  thing  is  custom ! 

July  31.     Worked  hard  at  St.  Sebastian. 


164  MEMOIR  OF 


,/ B to 


''August  1,  1843. 
What  creatures  of  circumstance  or  accident  are 
we  poor  anatomies!  In  1836,  when  through  the 
kindness  of  that  noble  fellow,  W.  H.,  I  first  left  the 
shores  of  my  native  country,  to  partake  in  the  picto- 
rial feast  of  Europe,  who  could  have  foretold,  that  on 
that  day  seven  years,  (after  various  '  hairbreadth  ac- 
cidents by  flood  and  field,')  I  should  concoct,  indite, 
sig-n  seal  and  direct  a  letter  to  you  from  Venice'? 
The  1st  of  July  1  left  Rome  for  safety  sake, — I  love 
it  too  well  to  leave  its  old  time-worn  sides  for  any 
lesser  cause, — and  stopping-  a  few  days  at  Florence 
and  Bologna  to  inspect  and  re-inspect  their  treasures, 
I  hastened  for  this  '  city  of  the  sea.'  The  country  I 
have  traversed  is  Itahj^ — in  that  one  word  you  have 
pictured  to  your  imagination  nothing  but  beauty, — 
mountains,  lakes,  cascades,  vineyards,  and  '  last  but 
not  least,'  Heaven's  best  gift  to  man, — the  girls  !  If 
life  is  not  felt  and  enjoyed,  and  nature  worshipped 
and  art  adored,  in  this  glorious  clime,  it  were  better 
to  divide  the  carotid  and  try  that  change,— for  so  long 
as  it8  functions  are  performed,  nothing  can  be  found 
so  like  Paradise  as  Italy.  As  for  my  old  heart,  there 
is  enough  here  to  satisfy  all  its  longings,  and  nothing 
but  sharp-toothed  penury  shall   bite  it  and  its  love 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  165 

(Italy)  asunder.  In  sober  truth,  no  other  country 
contains  a  tenth  part  of  its  advantag-es  for  the  painter, 
— poor  me  ! — I  have  had  my  eyes  opened,  and  know 
how  much  too  fast  I  have  travelled, — to  retrace  my 
steps, — to  unlearn  or  undo  much  that  I  have  acquired 
at  home,  where  all  that  leads  in  art  misleads,  is  now 
my  task.  I  hope  I  have  made  the  discovery  in  time 
to  correct  the  error, — before  your  answer  to  this  let- 
ter reaches  Europe  I  hope  to  be  again  in  Rome, 
engaged  in  drmcing,  and  after  devoting  a  year  to  it, 
I  shall  be  a  candidate  for  historical  pictures.  The 
two  copies  I  have  here  commenced,  are  the  last  I 
shall  make  for  nearly  a  year.  I  shall  not  be  idle 
however, — my  labour  will  be  greater  than  ever,  and 
the  length  of  time  I  devote  to  drawing  will  depend 
upon  my  success  in  picking  up  orders  for  pictures 
next  winter  in  Rome.  Those  who  give  orders,  pay 
half  in  advance,  and  that  will  give  me  a  sure  crite- 
rion for  regulating  my  drawing  term.  I  am,  I  know, 
a  very  poor  electioneerer,  but  I  must  now  learn  that 
nice  art,  and  so  hurra !  for  Rome,  and  the  arts,  and 
the  patrons  of  art ! 

I  have  received  your  letter  of  May  8th.  The  first 
line  is  as  brief  as  some  of  Napoleon's  edicts,  and 
fully  as  effective :  '  Your  picture  is  a  successful  ef- 
fort,'— to  which  I  make  the  startling  response,  '  you 
don't  say  so!'  Three  or  four  days  before  I  received 
yours,  I  Gfot  W 's  critique  upon   it,  and,  but  for 


166  MEMOIR    OP 

his  healthy  check,  your  sudden  declaration  of  its 
merits  would  have  quite  upset  me.  He  does  not  like 
the  misty  looking-  ang-el  on  the  right  of  Christ,  nor 
the  little  one  'in  the  blue  silk  smock,' — now  the  Httle 
blue  one  is  clever,  but  the  misty  fellow  every  body 
dislikes,  so  I  calls  him  one  of  the  damned.  I  am 
all  pins  to  know  how  the  Brigand  will  please. 
If  this  and  the  Rebecca  please  as  well  as  you  and 

W tell  me  the  first  did,  I  shall  be  a  happy  dog- 

for  a  year, — and  then  when  I  shew  you  '•Hagar  and 
Ishmael^  and  '■Lieutenant  Manning  taking  a  Britisher 
prisoner  at  Eutaw,^  you  will  say,  'if  this  is  the  way 
thing's  are  done  up  in  Rome,  the  young"  man  had 
better  remain  there  until  he  has  numbered  his  forti- 
eth summer,  and  return  estabhshed  in  reputation, 
adorned  with  the  evidences  of  hard  thinking  (deeply 
cut  wrinkles,)  and  a  sconce  bald,  and  polished, — 
(externally!)  My  hair  is  cut  off  in  the  hope  of  res- 
toring it  to  its  original  luxuriance,  (am  I  not  too  old?) 
and  I  am  now  all  moustache  and  beard, — the  tuft  on 
my  chin  looks  Vandykish.  I  must  stay,  at  least, 
another  year  here, — ten  years  would  not  suffice  me ; 
there  is  so  much  to  do !  Huntingdon  and  Leutze  are 
both  in  Italy.  Leutze  painted  in  Philadelphia  when 
I  studied  there, — a  German  by  birth, — he  is  about 
thirty-two  years  of  age,  and  an  able  fellow. 

I  thank  you  for  those  few  lines,  where  you  tell  me 
to  stay  as  long  as  I  can, — /  loill.     If  I  can  be  here 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  167 

for  four  or  five  years,  I  will  come  to  New  York  and 
feel  like  a  well  armed  warrior,  bold  and  confident 
enough  to  front  the  best  of  the  opposing-  ranks,  and 
be  a  champion  for  my  country's  art!    That's  poetical," 

This  was  the  last  letter  from  him  before  his  illness. 
How  mournfully  interesting*  the  bright  fond  hopes  of 
hig-h  excellence,  and  anxious  devotion  to  the  oppor- 
tunities around  him !  But  the  rich  and  promising- 
buddings  of  his  fine  g-enius,  which  needed  but  a 
suitable  soil  and  careful  cultivation,  to  expand  into 
the  briUiant  flower,  pregnant  with  germs  to  scatter 
widely  its  beauties,  was  doomed,  like  that  of  the  field, 
to  be  cut  down  and  wither  away ! 

^^Avjg.  5.  Since  July  I  have  been  constantly  at 
work.  To-day  we  have  a  fixed  storm, — the  clouds 
seem  immoveable,  and  let  down  '  the  fast  descend- 
ing rain'  in  torrents.  We  in  our  dark  chambers 
are  forced  to  stay  at  home,  and  write  letters  to 
friends,  or  sketch  compositions  for  future  historicals. 

Titian, — Paul  Veronese, — Tintoretto  ! ! !  How 
utterly  impossible  to  judge  of  the  strength  of  these 
men,  until  Venice  has  been  visited !  Color'  and  chi- 
aro  oscwo  carried  to  the  climax!  This  is  made  the 
one  grand  requisite  in  art  by  the  force  and  genius  of 
this  great  triumvirate.  Composition,  sentiment  (sa- 
cred or  profane,)  is  pressed  down  into  a  subordinate 


168  MEMOIR    OF 

post; — these  wonderful  necromancers  make  a  man 
forg"et  for  a  time  that  there  are  higher  aims  in  art, 
than  their  own  great  quahties.  Their  rich  florid 
eloquence  enchants  us  at  once,  and  we  are  disposed 
to  give  it  our  credence,  and  disbeheve  all  the  other 
schools.  Many  a  struggle  with  self, — many  a  grave 
caution  and  sage  reflection  have  I  called  up  from 
memory's  seat,  to  save  me  in  moments  of  temptation, 
when  I  have  felt  myself  yielding  to  the  spells  of 
these  old  hoys.  The  purity  of  thought  and  feeling, 
and  poetic  conceptions  of  Raphael  and  Domenichino 
have  been  for  days  entirely  forgotten,  whilst  medita- 
ting before  the  splendid  flashes  of  the  Venetians. 
Nothing  but  a  view  of  his  works  can  convey  an  idea 
of  Paul  Veronese; — countless  square  feet  of  canvass, 
crowded  with  figures,  and  rich  in  architectural  de- 
sign, and  painted  with  a  truth  of  out-door  sunshine 
effect  unequalled, — heaven's  broad  glare  at  mid-day, 
painted  as  no  other  man  ever  has,  or  ever  will  paint 
again.  If  management  of  paint,  mere  mechanical 
dexterity,  with  a  wondrous  knowledge  of  the  sci- 
ence and  just  equilibrium  of  colour,  constituted  the 
essence  of  our  art,  and  gave  it  its  place  among  the 
liberal  professions,  Paul  Veronese,  would  stand  pre- 
eminent,— but  ornamental  work  is  not  our  grade, — 
it  rises  to  the  dignity  to  which  M.  Angelo  and  Raphael 
ascended,  and  sits  on  high,  clothed  in  intellectual 
majesty. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  169 

Monday^  Aug.  14.  Upwards  of  a  week  and  noth- 
ing* added  to  my  Journal, — like  other  duties,  it  has 
been  neglected.  I  have  worked  steadily  the  day-light 
through,  and  enjoyed  the  moonlight  each  evening* 
from  our  balcony, — one  effect,  the  moon  behind 
the  Salute^  looking-  like  a  lamp  in  the  dome,  I  must 
paint. 

I  took  a  gondola  one   lovely  night  with  R 

and  L and  B ,  and  with  the  guitar  and  their 

science  and  my  appreciation  of  their  united  skill,  the 
time  passed  g-loriously.  Diana  undid  her  cold  smile, 
and  looked  as  warmly  as  thoug-h  her  own  Eudymion 
had  made  one  among*  our  crew. 

Last  night  we  enjoyed  the  Chand  Passeggiata  in 
gondolas  on  the  Grand  Canal,  in  honour  of  the  Duke 
of  Modena.  He  seems  to  be  a  man  of  fifty-five  or 
sixty, — was  seated  in  the  same  gondola  with  the 
Arch  Duke,  a  handsome  young*  fellow  of  twenty-two, 
and  two  ladies,  one  the  Arch-duchess.  The  fun  and 
frolic  was  uproarious, — the  hundreds  of  g*ondolas 
afloat  caused  a  swell  among  the  waters  of  the  canal, 
and  the  unruly  movements  of  the  boats.  The  swing- 
ing*  to  and  fro  in  the  air  of  the  thousand  g*ondoliers, 
and  their  shouts  and  hallos,  as  they  grazed  each 
others'  sides  or  dreaded  a  concussion,  made  the 
scene,  particularly  after  dark,  when  various  coloured 
lights  were  burning  and  rockets  filled  the  heavens, 

splendidly  brilliant. 

22 


170  MEMOIR    OF 

A  sudden  storm  of  rain  drove  us  to  the  snug  shel- 
ter of  our  houses  two  hours  sooner  than  we  bar- 
gained for. 

It  was  very  dark  at  the  Church,  so  I  made  a  sketch 
from  P.  Veronese  on  the  ceihng-,  ^^Esther  coming  out 
from  being  chosen  by  the  KingT 

Tuesday^  Aug.  15.  Festa  of  the  Virg-in, — no  work, 
the  churches  being-  closed  against  us.  I  passed  the 
day  reading",  and  at  the  Ducal  Palace.  I  also  went 
to  the  bath,  where  the  Arch  Duke  was  among-  the 
swimmers. 

Aug.  16.  Made  a  sketch  of  ^^Ahasuei'us  crowning 
Esther, ^^  at  St.  Sebastian,  by  Veronese, — quick  work 
for  a  day,  but  I  feared  I  had  lost  my  rapidity  of  hand, 
and  this  I  did  for  a  trial, — it  is  also  a  g-ood  "bit  of 
color"  for  a  painter  to  refer  to. 

Sunday.  Last  night  the  Piazza  St.  Marco,  was 
for  the  first  time  illuminated  with  g-as, — it  was  a 
brilliant  display,  the  whole  populace  crowded  to 
witness  something-  new  in  this  old  world.  The  Arch 
Duke  Charles  with  a  numerous  corteg-e  of  g-entlemen 
and  ladies,  promenaded  for  an  hour; — three  bands 
of  music  kept  the  echos  awake  for  three  successive 
hours.  These  Venetian  girls  seen  by  gas  light  out- 
shine all  "creation;" — the  effect  of  this  light  is  to  me 
painful, — the  appearance  of  the  buildings  by  a  light, 
neither  day  nor  night  is  disagreeable.  I  love  the  old 
place  by  day,  and  by  night  I  love  it  no  less,  but  this 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  171 

usurpation  of  night  time  I  dislike.  To  see  the  domes, 
minarets  and  columns  losing"  themselves  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  point  of  the  campanile  reaching-  beyond 
the  vision,  had  something  wonderfully  g-rand  in  it, — 
now  gas  has  broug"ht  all  into  full  blaze,  and  it  is  to  be 
always  day  about  these  g"lorious  old  skies. 

I  took  a  g-ondola  this  morning  with  R and 

went  to  see  churches  for  three  hours.  Saw  a  ^'■Mar- 
riage of  St.  Catharine"  by  P.  Veronese, — silvery  in 
colour, — nothing  more  remarkable  about  it,  than 
one  usually  finds  in  this  master, — there  is  always 
much  to  admire  and  more  to  blame,  no  story  told,  no 
passion  expressed,  but  a  rich  and  harmonious  assem- 
blage of  colour  always  presented  to  the  eye.  The 
Catharine  has  a  pretty  face  and  is  richly  draped, — 
two  angels  singing  are  graceful  conceptions. 

At  St.  Guiseppe,  an  obscene  Veronese,  and  tombs, 
huge  piles  of  unmeaning  marble  of  Rimini  and  his 
consort; — at  St.  Niccolo  nothing.  At  St.  Peter's 
place,  formerly  the  Cathedral  of  Venice  till  St.  Mark 
took  its  place  in  1807,  I  saw  a  gorgeous  show  of 
chapels  and  monuments, — a  Veronese  with  three 
figures  and  flying  angel,  good.  Went  to  ^S*^.  Gio- 
vanni and  St.  Paul,  and  saw  the  '■'■Peter  Martyr"  of 
Titian  again.  It  and  the  votive  altar  piece  at  the 
Frari,  are  the  two  gems  of  the  Venetian  school, — the 
landscape,  angels,  and  flying  figure,  nothing  in  art 
can  ever  excel, — who  will  ever  equal  them  7 


172  MEMOIR  OF 

The  exhibition  of  modern  works  closed  to-day  at 
the  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts; — it  has  been  opened  J 
two  weeks  and  caused  the  ejection  of  us  copyists 
from  the  presence  of  the  old  masters.  The  whole 
affair  has  been  poor  enough, — a  picture  of  "^  poor 
icoman  offering  her  breast  to  a  tired  soldier"  possesses 
fine  drawing-  and  modelling-.  The  ^' Charity'^  has 
two  pelicans  well  painted, — the  picture  of  ^^JVight," 
by  the  same  artist,  and  only  exposed  this  last  day,  is 
''the  crack," — it  is  hig-hly  poetic.  The  fig-ure  of 
Night,  is  a  beautiful  female,  (naked  to  the  waist,) 
with  bat's  wings  and  green  tunic,  and  a  dark  cloak, 
■ — under  her  dusky  wings  crime  and  murder  are  con- 
cealed, and  the  whole  group,  skilfully  shaded  by  the 
large  flowing  folds  of  Night's  sombre  mantle.  Mur- 
der is  depicted  under  the  figure  of  a  child,  heedless, 
thoughtless  and  mischievous,  brandishing  from  right 
to  left,  the  sword  of  death, — the  other  figure,  a  fe- 
male wrapped  in  a  dark  robe,  and  concealing  her 
face  in  its  folds ; — the  owl  hoots  through  the  dark  fir- 
mament making  night  hideous  with  his  fearful  croak, 
— a  dark  line  of  richly  swelhng  mountains  bounds 
the  horizon,  and  floating  in  the  faint  glimmerings  of 
departed  day,  the  figures  of  fiends  and  devils  and 
the  whole  catalogue  of  vices  are  seen  bounding  on 
their  various  courses.  The  sable  hues  of  midnight 
are  happily  caught,  and  the  artist  (Buzato)  has  reason 
to  be  proud  of  his  production. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  173 

Tuesday^  Aug.  22.  At  St.  Sebastian,  I  met  an 
Eng-lish  lady  and  her  beautiful  daughter, — talked  art 
and  other  nonsense  for  an  hour, — clever  woman  on 
the  tongue,  but  only  gave  the  custode  one  cent !  for 
showing-  Paul  Veronese's  chef  cVouvre ! — and  all  my 
chat  thrown  in.  What  can  I  make  of  her,  a  smart 
g-overness,  or  a  poor  poetess  1  If  we  meet  again  I'll 
try  my  skill  in  pumping, — my  curiosity  is  excited, — 
"  Pistol's  blood  is  up." 

Friday,  Aug.  25.  A  lady  seated  herself  at  my 
side,  and  began  drawing  a  small  statue.  I  offered 
her  some  attentions,  etc.  in  Italian,  but  as  she  spoke 
French  to  her  maid,  I  gave  her  a  French  dash, — 
after  a  while,  she  talked  English  for  practice,  and  I 
was  regularly  installed  as  teacher  of  drawing  and 
English,  and  have  heard  since,  that  she  is  a  Russian 
princess.  Hope  she  may  come  again, — one  day's 
interview  with  such  a  little  gem  of  a  brunette,  and 
that  northern  too,  is  just  the  thing-  for  me,  and  I  must 
be  more  agreeable  at  our  next  meeting. 

Sunday,  Aug.  27.     I  went  with  T in  a  g-on- 

dola  to  the  Church  of  the  Madonna  del  Orto,  the 
most  splendid  church  of  the  Gothic  order  in  Venice. 
Tintoretto  has  several  works  here  of  g-reat  beauty  in 
his  way, — the  '•'•  Lojst  JudgmenV  gave  free  scope  to 
his  wild  fantasies  and  he  has  revelled  to  the  full. 
The  Father,  Son  and  Virgin  on  high, — the  last  trump 
is  sounding-  above  them,  and  beneath  are  the  angels 


174  MEMOIR    OF 

with  sword  and  scales, — then  follows  the  terrific 
hurly  burly  of  the  damned, — men  and  women  (mostly  || 
the  latter,)  are  tumbling-  by  myriads  into  the  "  inferno," 
— a  rapid  river  receives  them ; — the  centre  of  the 
picture  is  cut  throug"h  by  a  deep  fall  in  the  river, 
which  pours  impetuously  on,  bearing*  all  before  it 
down,  down  to  hell.  All  strugghng  and  hope  seems 
vain,  when  this  point  is  once  past, — many  are  roUing 
over  the  cascade,  and  are  lost  forever,  whilst  a  group 
of  angels  snatch  one  soul  from  the  brink  and  are 
floatinof  off  towards  heaven  ! 

"  The  iDorship  of  the  Golden  Calf^''  I  did  not  like  so 
much, — (a  real  calf  decked  with  golden  ornaments,) 
— though  there  are  fine  points;  but  what  mean  those 
chains  of  gold  as  large  as  a  seventy-four's  cable? 
For  what  were  they  originally  intended?  These 
unmeaning  whims  make  a  great  defect  in  this  master. 
"  The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Agnes,^^  is  good  again, — the 
Saint  and  her  little  lamb  make  as  perfect  a  picture 
of  innocence  as  any  canvass  exhibits.  Thence  we 
went  to  St.  Catharine's  again, — I  like  the  P.  Vero- 
nese better. 

Again  we  went  to  the  JFrari, — that  Titian  is  the 
pattern  for  depth  and  richness  and  brilliancy  of  tone 
and  color, — I  must  have  a  sketch  of  that.  Went  to 
the  ^^Belle  Ay^ti"  and  saw  a  fat  Englishman  break  a 
chair  and  have  a  tumble,  whilst  seated  in  admiration 
before  the  ^^ Ascension,''^  of  Titian, — had  it  been  an 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  175 

Italian,  he  would  have  cried,  "  per  Bacco,"  but  John 
Bull  bellowed  out  a  more  sinful  national  oath. 

Sept.  2,  1843.  Yesterday  two  years  since  I  sailed 
for  Liverpool !  How  many  sad  changes  have  occur- 
red! And  yesterday,  I  learned  that  Washington 
Allston,  the  g-reatest  of  American  painters,  has  been 
taken  from  earth  to  join  his  God !  Even  in  my  small, 
small  circle  has  Death  been  busy, — and  some  doubt- 
less there  are,  for  whom  I  shall  seek  in  vain  when  I 
return, — (should  that  privileg-e  be  allowed  me,)  of 
whose  decease,  I  shall  never  hear  by  letter.  And 
in  the  midst  of  this  mortality  among  my  friends,  have 
I  ffrown  more  serious  or  more  wise  ?  Have  the 
thoughts  that  rise  so  aptly  when  we  hear  that  the 
hand  of  death  hath  grasped  forever  one  who  was 
dear  to  us,  been  profitable  to  me  1  Or  have  I  shud- 
dered for  a  moment,  and  then  in  the  busy  hum  of 
life's  pastimes,  forgotten  that  they  ever  lived  ?  How 
cold  and  callous  do  we  become,  as  the  sun  of  our 
lives  declines !  Intelligence,  that,  in  the  tender  years 
of  youth,  started  the  gushing  fountains  of  the  heart 
and  eyes,  in  maturer  age  falls  dull  and  listlessly  on 
the  ear,  or  if  it  moves  us,  it  is  only  for  a  moment  and 
then  is  forgotten  forever ! 

September  7.     Yesterday  was  my  birth-day, — alas ! 

and  alack  the  day  !     Went  with  T and  K 

to  the  Palazzo  Reale  in  front  of  Santo  Marco, — "  Ve- 
nice throned,  suppo7'ted  by  Force  and  Plenty,^'  with  a 


176  MEMOIR    OF 

beautiful  female  head  in  one  corner,  (that  face  per- 
fect,) painted  on  the  ceihng,  is  a  master-piece ; — 
"  Christ  in  the  Garden,^^  supported  by  an  angel,  by  the 
same  artist,  is  very  fine, — besides  several  Bassanos. 
In  the  large  room  formerly  the  library,  fronting-  on 
the  Piazzetta,  the  ceihng  is  choked  with  painting's, — 
some  ^'■philosophers''''  by  Tintoretto  and  Schiavone,  and 
three  of  the  compartments  by  P.  Veronese.  The 
other  eig"hteen  by  Salviati, — J.  Baptiste  Franco, — 
Zelotti,  —  Padovanino, — Strozzi, — Schiavone,  — Luci- 
nius, — all  this  part  of  the  Palais  Royal  is  called  the 
Procuratie  JVuove.  At  St.  Maria  Formosa  saw  a 
St.  Barnaba, — it  is  a  portrait,  full  leng-th,  by  Palma 
Vecchio,  of  his  daughter,  (Titian's  wife,)  superior  to 
any  thing  Titian  ever  made  of  her, — its  beauty  is 
maddening !  and  as  a  work  of  art  unsurpassed  for  a 
single  figure.  To  several  other  churches, — St.  Lio, 
— Pantaleone, — and  others,  and  found  something  cle- 
ver in  all.  Finished  off*  at  three  o'clock  at  the  Belle 
Arti,  then  went  home,  and  painted  an  angel  in  my 
copy  of   Paul  Veronese.     In  the   evening,  went  to 

the  Piazza,  and  strolled  with  R and  T till 

ten,  and  then  at  home  read  Reynolds  till  twelve 
o'clock.  So  endeth  the  —  year  of  my  being.  Should 
it  please  the  Almighty  disposer  to  give  me  as  many 
more  years  as  I  have  already  lived,  through  what 
variety  of  untried  scenes  am  I  to  pass, — dangers  by 
land  and  sea, — death  of  friends  and  relatives, — ill 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  177 

succeeding-  ill,  till  time  in  its  rapid  flig-ht  bring-s  me 
to  the  door  of  death.  A  well  spent  life  and  entire 
confidence  in  the  g'oodness  and  mercy  of  God,  will 
be  the  only  support  under  such  accumulating  evils, — 
may  my  life  be  a  preparation  for  death  ! 

Sunday,  September  11.     I  received  a  letter  from 

B ,  in  answer  to  the  money  I  sent  for  poor  Cle- 

venger.  Poor  fellow ! — he  is  indeed  miserable  in 
mind  and  body, — the  sea  voyage  may  save  him,  but 
I  fear  the  result  will  be  fatal.  Mrs.  GrifRn,  wife  of 
Lieut.  Griffin,  and  daughter  of  Commodore  Lawrence, 
died  in  Florence  on  Sunday  last.  I  met  her  mother 
and  herself  at  a  Hotel  at  Marseilles  two  years  ago, 
when  we  were  all  coming  to  Italy, — here  I  am, — 
and  she  a  saint  in  heaven ! 

Wrote  last  night  a  letter  of  condolence  and  cheer- 
ing to  Clevenger, — to-day  I  was  to  start  with  T 

for  Padua,  but  the  arrival  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huntingdon 

and  Mr.  C ,  prevented  it.     Met  Mr.  H.   and  lady 

and  Mr.  C.  in  the  Piazza  St.  Marco,  and  was  intro- 
duced by  Mr.  T.  amid  the  tuneful  soundings  of  thirty- 
six  musicians, — chatted  for  two  hours,  and  found  them 
amiable    and  pleasing.     Mr.    H.    mentioned   having 

seen  my  "  Christ  and  Angels  "  in  New  York.      *      * 

******* 

Quite  complimentary, — but  is  this  an  equivalent  for 
the  half  year  of  harrassing  toil  that  it  cost  me  to  pro- 
duce itl     Monsieur  Tyrrell,  (a  pupil  of  Delaroche,) 
23 


178  MEMOIR    OP 

whom  I  have  known  for  eig-hteen  months,  is  on  his 
way  to  France, — called  to  see  me,  with  his  wife, — 
he  has  laboured  hard  and  will  take  quite  a  respecta- 
ble stand  in  art, — his  copies  are  admirable,  and  he 
has  a  church  to  paint  on  his  arrival  in  his  native  pro- 
vince. Here  we  part  to  meet  no  more  perhaps, — 
thoug"h  in  my  old  age  I  may  cross  the  water,  and 
stumble  on  him  in  Paris, — may  we  both  prosper  ! 

Sunday^  llth  September.  Heard  from  Mr.  Hoit 
that  Cleveng-er  and  family  have  sailed  from  Leg-horn 
for  home.     At  eight  this  morning-  bargained  for  a 

gondola  to  take  R and  myself  to  Torricello,  eight 

miles  distant,  to  await  our  commands  and  return,  for 
seven  zwanzigers,  (one  doUarand  twenty-five  cents.) 
Every  thing  favoured  our  excursion, — the  weather  a 
fair  sample  of  that  soft  pellucid  mildness  known  best 
by  the  word  drowsy^ — all  nature  seemed  to  languish 
with  sweetness,  and  our  own  bodies  partook  the 
infection.  Two  stout  gondohers  plied  the  oars,  and 
we  skimmed  the  main  like  martins  on  the  wing.  At 
Mazzorbo,  (one  of  the  twenty-five  islands  that  lie 
around  Venice,)  we  were  asked  for  our  passports, — 
knew  not  that  such  a  caution  was  needed,  and  were 
without  them, — shewed  ourselves  before  the  chief 
cook,  and  as  we  looked  like  harmless  or  distinguished 
strangers,  were  permitted  to  pass  on,  and  landed  a 
halfmile  farther  at  our  destination.  The  Guide-book, 
(Murray's,)  published  last  year,  told  us  of  "  magnifi- 


I 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  179 

cent  remains  of  palaces,  rising-  from  their  grassy 
couches," — we  found  the  latter,  but  not  the  slightest 
vestige  of  the  former ; — there  are  eight  or  ten  fish- 
ermen's hovels;  the  Duomo,  and  the  adjoining  church, 
however,  fully  repaid  our  disappointment.  The  Mo- 
saic, worked  before  the  tenth  century,  are  as  good 
as  Giotto's  first  pictures, — the  pulpit  is  a  gem  of 
Greek  sculpture,  and  the  perfect  preservation  of 
parts  of  it  surprised  and  charmed  us, — the  floor  beau- 
tifully inlaid  with  Mosaic  also.  Back  of  the  choir, 
the  semi-circle  of  seats,  with  the  chair  of  the  presi- 
ding bishop  in  the  centre,  gives  one  a  complete  idea 
of  an  ancient  Roman  theatre, — one  thing  is  unique 
in  its  way, — the  window  shutters  are  each  composed 
of  one  solid  slab  of  stone,  and  turn  on  huge  iron 
hinges, — an  enormous  mass  of  rock,  cut  into  a  chair, 
and  planted  in  the  centre  of  a  meadow,  (piazza,)  is 
called  the  seat  of  Attila, — was  used,  it  is  supposed, 
at  the  inauguration  of  a  new  ruler.  We  strolled 
about  the  vineyards,  ate  grapes  and  figs  at  will,  and 
"  without  money  or  price," — soliloquized  and  talked 
sentiment,  and  watched  boys  at  play,  and  being  satis- 
fied with  a  three  hours  stay,  took  to  our  gondola, — 
touched  at  the  island  of  Burano,  sailed  by  Murano, 
and  St.  Michaele,  and  returned  to  our  homes  light 
hearted  and  joyous, — may  many  such  days  attend 
us  in  life's  weary  pilgrimage  !  So  fleeting  and  un- 
certain are  all  hopes  and  calculations  for  the  future, 


180  MEMOIR  OF 

that  the  wise  man  will  dwell  only  with  the  present, 
learning"  while  it  is  passing-  from  his  g"rasp,  how  to 
value  the  hom's  that  are  coming-, — so  onward  we  go, 
improving-  by  experience,  and  attain  at  last  the  meth- 
od of  using-  our  time  with  profit  as  well  as  pleasure. 

Monday,  September  18.     R ,  L and  myself 

went  to  the  Lido  to  be  witnesses  of  an  Italian  fete : 
g-roups  of  men,  women  and  children  were  scattered 
about  the  grounds,  dancing-  and  romping-  to  the  music 
of  two  or  three  minstrels.  In  another  part  tables 
were  spread  and  crowded  with  amateurs  of  g-ood 
cheer, — wine,  bread,  cheese  and  fruits,  oiled  down 
by  plump  looking-  fritters,  formed  the  chief  supplies. 
The  dancing-  was  really  Italian, — old  age  and  buoy- 
ant youth  tripped  it  side  by  side,  and  the  echoes  of 
the  Lido  rang  with  the  hilarity  of  this  gay  and 
strangely  sorted  medley.  We  floated  home  in  our 
gondola  at  one  o'clock, — no  sound  broke  over  our 
silent  journey, — a  spotless  sky,  winking  stars,  and 
St.  Marks  looking  like  a  fairy  city!  Shall  I  not  suffer 
long  and  much,  before  I  re-visit  again  this  loved 
land?  In  a  few  days  more  we  part, — perhaps  for- 
ever! 

Tuesday.  Saw  to-day  a  funeral :  a  wealthy  citizen 
having  passed  three  score  and  ten,  has  been  called 
away, — the  palace  is  next  but  one  to  ours,  (Quirini,) 
and  the  family  Contarini.  The  gondolas  of  the  ac- 
quaintances and  friends  of  the  defunct,  gathered  in 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  181 

great  numbers  around  the  palace, — some  of  them 
having-  small  flags  with  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
family  painted  on  them, — most  of  the  gondoliers  in 
livery ; — the  corpse  was  taken  from  the  back  of  the 
palace,  and  borne  to  the  landing  in  front  of  the 
"  Belle  Arti,"  accompanied  by  chanting  priests,  and 
protected  by  a  file  of  soldiers; — the  poor  people  of 
this  ward  were  all  present, — to  each  of  them,  the 
old  man  had  left  one  dollar,  and  a  candle  to  be  burnt 
before  the  shrine  of  the  Madonna,  accompanied  in 
orisons  for  his  soul.  The  payment  of  the  dollar  does 
not  always  ensure  the  rightful  application  of  the  can- 
dle,— it  is  often  sold  to  the  grocer  for  less  than  its 
value,  (twenty-five  cents,)  and  the  proceeds  used  in 
nourishing  living  bodies,  instead  of  helping  dead 
ones  through  purgatory.  It  was  Francois  Contarini, 
(Ambassador  from  the  Venetian  republic  in  1541,  to 
Charles  V.,)  who  discovered  at  Brussels  the  manu- 
script account  of  the  taking  of  Constantinople  in 
1203,  under  Dondolo, — written  by  Ville  Hardouin, 
one  of  the  commanders  of  the  expedition. 

Sundmj,  Sept.  24.  Saw  the  Churches  of  ^S*^.  Luke 
and  the  Scalzi, — in  the  first,  nothing  but  doubtful 
Tintorettos,  in  the  latter,  a  surfeit  of  rich  marbles. 
At  St.  Niccolo  del  Tolentmo,  a  beautiful  interior, — a 
picture  very  like  Rubens',  and  two  splendid  paintings 
by  Bonafazio, — one,  ^^Herod^s  daughter  taking  the 
head  of  John  on  a  platter  into  the  palace  of  her  fa- 


182  MEMOIR    OF 

^/ie?'," — the  pendant  is  a  supper,  the  table  cloth  and  a 
boy  with  his  back  to  the  spectator,  and  a  dog  jumping- 
against  him  are  prodigies  of  color.  At  St.  Giacomo 
del'Orio,  are  four  heads  by  Paul, — nothing  for  him^ 
— ^'■St  John  preachitig  in  the  Wilderness,^'  by  Bassano, 
is  fine,-^and  another  by  the  same,  "^n  old  Canon 
reading,^''  attended  by  John  the  Baptist  (very  fine 
figure,)  and  another  saint,  the  landscape  glorious. 
Went  to  the  Palazzo  Reale, — that  landscape  in  the 
first  room  by  Bonafazio,  is  my  landscape  in  Venice. 
And  poor  Clevenger  is  on  his  westward  way, — 
how  changed  his  hopes,  how  well  founded  all  his 
fears!  He  came  three  short  years  since,  accom- 
panied with  the  flattery  of  friends,  and  the  buoyancy 
of  spirits  it  inspires, — now  sad,  dejected,  disappointed 
and  dying,  he  turns  towards  his  native  shore,  per- 
haps never  to  reach  it, — and  if  he  should,  it  will  only 
be  to  tell  his  tale  of  sorrows  to  heedless  ears,  and 
experience  the  maddening  truth,  that  he  has  been 
forgotten,  as  the  idol  of  an  hour!  Whilst  he  was 
new,  he  attracted,  but  now,  other  than  he  fills  his 
former  post, — in  prosperity  he  was  sought,  in  this 
the  day  of  his  adversity,  he  will  be  shunned ; — that 
he  has  escaped  the  fangs  of  cruel  creditors,  and  the 
slanderous  tongue  of  his  Florentine  co-labourers  I 
am  glad, — I  fear  though,  he  is  pursued  by  one,  who 
is  never  cheated  of  his  prey, — Death  is  in  his  wake  I 
May  God  avert  the  destroyer !     How  well  I  recall 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  183 

him.  ten  months  ag-o  in  my  room  at  Florence,  hale 
and  hearty, — how  uncertain  is  life !  How  frail  mor- 
tality !  To-day  flourishing-,  to-morrow  cut  off  and 
g"one  forever, — the  place  that  once  knew  us,  know- 
ing" us  no  more !  His  poor  wife  too !  At  this  mo- 
ment, who  can  feel  her  situation  ?  Three  young- 
children  and  a  sick  husband, — lonely,  unhappy,  deso- 
late,— traversing-  the  mig-hty  deep,  without  hope  for 
the  future,  or  a  sympathetic  friend  to  cheer  the  drea- 
riness of  her  solitude, — God  help  her  in  her  distress ! 

Sunday^  Oct.  1.  All  the  last  week  I  have  been 
making-  a  study  of  Tintoretto's  picture  of  the  ^'■As- 
cension of  the  Virgin," — one  day  more  will  com- 
plete it, — in  the  afternoon  I  painted  at  home  on  the 
copy  of  a  Paul  Veronese  for  Columbia.  Unwell 
to-day,  I  walked  along-  the  quai  to  the  public  gardens 
in  the  "  impregnating-  sun,"  and  was  benefitted, — 
saw  a  lady  the  imag-e  of  one  of  my  departed  friends. 

At  St.  Marks  there  were  scores  of  travellers,  (this 
is  their  season,) — saw  the  treasures,  candlesticks  and 
roods  of  solid  gold,  and  splendid  workmanship, — 
besides  many  sainted  relics. 

Sunday,  Oct.  8.  The  past  week  made  a  sketch  of 
Titian's  St.  John, — worked  on  my  portrait  of  myself* 
for  Col.   J.  L.  Manning-,    and  my   copy  of  P.  Ver- 

♦  This  was  the  last  work  of  De  Veaux  and  admirably  finished;  the  engra- 
ving from  it  for  this  Memoir,  was  kindly  cind  liberally  presented  to  the  author 
by  Col.  Manning.  It  is  a  faithful  copy,  and  adds  to  the  reputation  of  the  en- 
graver, Mr.  T.  B.  Welch,  another  son  of  South  Carolina. 


184  MEMOIR  OF 

onese, — spent  several  evenings  in  the  Piazza  with 
R and  L ,  looking-  first  seaward,  then  turn- 
ing to  gaze  upon  the  only  fairy  scene  I  know, — 
St,  Mark  and  its  happy  populace !  What  regrets  is 
the  memory  of  this  enchanting  city  to  occasion  7  I 
feel  it  even  here,  how  much  more  when  I  shall  be 
immured  in  my  contracted  chamber  this  winter  at 
Rome, — but  oh !  still  worse,  when  the  broad  ocean 
divides  it  and  me, — when  cotton  beds  and  potatoe 
patches  hem  me  in,  then  will  I  weep  for  the  days  of 
St.  Mark,  and  long  once  more  to  be  bounded  by  the 
classic  lines  of  Palladio  and  Sansovino. 

I  received  a  letter  to-day  from  Healy, — he  is  doing 
well, — the  King  is  pleased  with  his  Washington, 
which  is  in  Versailles,  and  talks  of  Healy's  going 
again  to  America  to  copy  other  revolutionary  heroes 
for  him, — he  painted  Webster  for  Lord  Ashburton, 
and  vice  versa, — also  Lady  Ashburton  for  her  lady- 
ship,— noble  fellow!  he  deserves  all  his  good  fortune, 
and  more. 

Monday^  Oct.  9.  Visited  the  "Bridge  of  Sighs," — 
much  more  picturesque  and  romantic  from  without; 
nothing  has  disappointed  me  more  than  this,  and  the 
custode,  a  matter-of-fact  sensible  man,  corrected  all 
our  romance  with  his  facts; — the  bridge  has  no  rea- 
son in  its  name,  as  it  was  the  only  private  commu- 
nication betwixt  the  palace  and  the  prison, — but 
many  who  passed  it  for  trial  were  found  innocent 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  185 

and  liberated, — all  the  stones  to  the  contrary  are 
poetic.  There  are  two  passag-es, — one  leading"  to 
the  cells  of  political  disturbers,  the  other  for  prisoners 
of  less  importance, — so,  "  I  too  have  stood  in  Venice 
on  the  bridg-e  of  sig-hs." 

Cooper's  bravo  was  arrested  here;  that  g'ave  a 

litde  dash  of  interest  to  my  visit.     L brought  off 

a  pound  or  two  of  the  icall  that  he  found  loose, — 
I  a  scrap  from  the  room  in  which  the  doomed 
were  privately  put  to  death.  After  our  descent  from 
the  bridg-e,  we  went  into  the  prisons, — there  are 
twenty-four  apartments,  not  one  belmo  icater^ — they 
were  all  boarded,  but  the  French  burnt  the  panelling- 
(which  ensured  dryness,)  in  many  of  the  rooms, — 
some  escaped  in  the  chamber  where  political  offend- 
ers were  confined;— the  ceiling-  was  never  boarded, 
and  many  an  enthusiastic  sentiment  is  cut  in  its  rude 
material,  one  by  a  preacher  dated  1606.  The  doors 
to  the  cells  are  all  removed,  but  it  appears  that  they 
were  all  double  doors, — I  expected  my  visit  to  be 
more  exciting,  but  it  has  been  the  reverse, — owing- 
perhaps  to  my  being  unwell.  In  another  week  I 
must  be  off, — Mantua,  Padua,  Modena  and  Florence 
I  hope  will  receive  me  well. 

Tuesdaij,  Oct.  10.     Three  months  have  I  sojourned 

here, — nothing  in  that  time  has  transpired  to  change 

the  old  course  of  events, — the  flow  and  reflux  of  the 

Adriatic  into  the  broad   and  narrow  canals  is  still 
24 


186  MEMOIR    OF 

uninterrupted.  Austria  rules  us  yet,  and  her  splen- 
did soldiery  parading-  every  spot  of  terra  firma,  keeps 
us  awed  into  subjection, — the  morning"  and  evening" 
g^uns  peal  it  at  the  arsenal, — men  and  women,  with 
the  hopes  and  fears  of  selfish  mortals,  are  active  in 
pursuit  of  their  own  profit, — the  dark  swift  g'ondola 
is  by  sun  beams  and  moonlig"ht  always  on  its  silent 
way, — the  piazza  and  piazzetta  of  St.  Marco  have 
their  crowd  of  busy  bodies  by  day,  and  a  brilliant 
collection  of  beauty  and  fashion  at  night,  who  g"ather 
to  court,  intrigue,  and  play  each  other  false  or  fair,  to 
the  sound  of  the  loveliest  music  that  ever  waked  the 
echoes  of  Italy; — and  I  have  been  the  willing"  parti- 
cipator in  this  pleasing",  exciting'  life-preserving"  jos- 
tle,— a  few  days  more  and  I  leave  it  to  reg"ret  it 
alway, — our  long"  sombre  episodes  upon  the  uncer- 
tain tenure  of  an  artist's  hopes  shall  then  be  hushed; 
our  various  speculations  regarding"  marriage  and  its 
cameleon  hues  will  be  finished, — Venice  and  the 
peculiar  train  of  thought  conjured  by  its  poetic  pres- 
ence will  slumber  in  our  memories  for  a  season,  and 

be  numbered  with  things  dimly  recalled.    R and 

I  will  part  to  pursue  our  various  chances,~to  battle 
and  be  baffled, — to  struggle  against  the  fluctuating 
caprices  of  a  heardess  world, — to  be  raised  by  hope 
to  the  pinnacle  of  our  aspirings,  and  then  by  the 
rough  voice  of  envy,  calumny  or  criticism,  thrown 
back  into  the  crowd  unnoticed, — perhaps  degraded. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  187 

Thursday,  Oct.  12.  Finished  my  copy  to-day,  and 
painted  on  my  portrait.  I  saw  in  the  g-allery  this 
morning"  '■'■Death  on  the  pale  Hor^se,^^  by  Palma  Gio- 
vene,  a  g'org'eous  conception,  and  poetic  in  chiar 
oscuro  and  colour. 

October  13.  Visited  the  Arsenal, — commenced  in 
1304,  it  has  been  continually  added  to  since, — its 
circumference  is  more  than  two  miles,  and  is  sur- 
rounded by  strong-  walls  and  towers, — the  principal 
g-ate  is  its  chief  beauty, — sculpture  by  pupils  of  San- 
sovino,  and  a  commanding*  fig^ure  of  St.  Justiana  by 
Jerome  Campagna  crowns  it ; — they  were  executed 
in  1517  in  commemoration  of  a  victory  of  the  Turks; 
four  lions  in  marble,  said  to  be  Grecian,  but  very 
shapeless, — the  one  to  the  left  as  you  approach  is 
supposed  to  have  been  made  to  commemorate  the 
batUe  of  Marathon.  The  armour  of  Henry  the  Fourth 
which  he  presented  when  he  asked  to  be  made 
patrician, — the  gold  keys  presented  to  Napoleon, — 
the  monument  to  Angelo  Erno, — the  gondolas  of 
Napoleon  and  Maria  Louisa,  and  the  model  of  the 
Bucentaur  interested  me  most; — the  different  imple- 
ments of  Turkish  and  Persian  warfare  interspersed 
with  conquered  banners  are  stale  things. 

The  Bucentaur  (the  orig-inal,)  was  one  hundred 
feet  long, — had  one  hundred  and  sixty-eig"ht  rowers, 
four  to  each  oar. 

T  took  a  g-ondola  for  two  hours  and  went  to  the 


188  MEMOIR    OF 

island  of  Murano  to  visit  the  g-lass  works, — small  fry. 
Passing-  St.  Marks  the  treasures  were  exposed, — 
went  in  and  saw  the  g-orgeous  "pala,"  presented 
by  Doge  Orseolo  I.,  under  whose  reign  in  976  the 
church  was  commenced, — finished  in  1071,  under 
Silvio. 

Su7iday,  Oct.  15.  My  last  Sabbath  in  Venice, — 
a  sky  that  seems  the  true  pathway  to  heaven,  so 
pure  and  transparent,  has  been  these  three  months 
mildly  bending  o'er  us  its  sweet  face  rarely  wreathed 
in  clouds.  The  sun's  "magnetic  ray"  has  put  new 
life  and  spirit  into  me, — the  morning  has  found  me 
prepared  for  labour,  and  at  the  evening's  approach  I 
have  been  rife  for  the  cheap  pleasures  of  the  city ; — 
to  start  a  gondola  with  two  or  three  musical  friends, 
and  glide  through  the  canals  of  Venice,  lighted  only 
by  the  artistic  moon,  who  gives  such  light  and  shade 
to  the  splendid  facades  of  the  sea  girt  palaces,  as  to 
present  a  picture  that  nothing  but  moonlight  and 
Venice  can  make  us  realize.  We  help  to  waken  the 
echoes  of  the  night  by  our  song,  and  when  we  hush 
our  dulcet  sounds,  'tis  only  to  catch  those  more  plain- 
tive and  harmonious,  coming  to  us  from  out  the 
shadow  of  some  tall  pile, — a  light  glimmers  in  the 
casement, — the  tuneful  compliment  is  acknowledged, 
and  the  happy  lover  scudding  o'er  the  wave  goes 
home  to  golden  dreams! — or  if  not  disposed  for 
water's  witching  sights,  terra  firma  has  her  charms. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  189 

Nightly  in  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark  the  fashion  of  the 
city  is  congreg-ated, — the  Arch-duke  proudly  strut- 
ting- with  some  lady  of  the  court  is  jostled  by  his 
dandy  tailor,  who  is  in  turn  brought  into  collision 
with  his  cobbler, — o;-as  lio;-ht  and  moonlight  are  there 
and  every  face  distincdy  seen.  Poets  and  painters 
are  there,  and  find  food,  poor  wretches!  for  their 
pens  and  pencils, — the  fat  and  greasy  citizen  soap 
boiler  with  his  plump  wife  and  rosy  girls  inhale  the 
breeze  of  the  piazzetta  as  it  comes  fresh  from  the 
sea.  What  a  happy  people  are  we !  talking,  laugh- 
ing and  floating  along  life's  weary  road,  we  rob  it  of 
its  rou2"her  edo^e. 

Wednesday,  Oct.  18.  A  beautiful  day, — the  sun 
has  risen  gloriously,  and  I  shall  have  his  beams  to 
cheer  me  as  I  leave  the  city.  Venice  adieu! — joyous 
and  happy  have  the  hours  flown  since  I  came  within 
thy  watery  walls.  I  may  some  day  re-visit  thy  sweet 
charms,  but  the  pleasures  of  my  stay  can  never 
again  be  what  they  have  been; — youth  is  passing 
and  with  it  the  keen  relish  for  joys  that  are  present; 
the  memory  of  the  past,  however,  can  never  be  ef- 
faced, and  Venice  shall  ever  be  cherished  as  one  of 
the  greenest  spots  in  my  recollection.  It  has  sud- 
denly clouded  and  stormed  at  such  a  furious  rate  as 
to  prevent  my  departure.  About  eleven  o'clock  it 
cleared  and  I  went  to  the  Foscari  Palace  to  visit  the 
last  of  that  noble  race, — an  old  lady  eighty-two  years 


190  MEMOIR  OP 

of  age,  seated  in  an  old  fashioned  chair,  very  plainly 
dressed  and  her  litde  white  satin  cap  trimmed  with 
lace,  received  me.  She  was  chatdng*  with  one  as 
old  or  older  than  herself,  in  a  little  corner  of  the 
palace  which  once  sent  forth  edicts  that  moved  the 
world  to  war  or  peace, — here,  decrepid  and  almost 
childish,  sat  the  last  descendant  of  the  past  greatness 
of  the  proud  Foscari !  With  the  name  of  Chistoforo 
Colombo,  I  roused  her  memory  to  the  recollection  of 
my  home,  and  she  sounded  his  name  often,  as  though 
it  recalled  some  long  forgotten  story ; — when  I  told 
her  of  the  country  far  off  that  her  countryman  had 
discovered,  and  the  millions  that  had  sprung  up  there, 
and  our  splendid  cities,  and  the  interests  we  occu- 
pants of  a  new  country  felt  in  the  past  history  of  the 
old  world, — and  mentioned  how  the  name  of  her 
own  family  was  often  sounded  as  being  among'  the 
greatest  in  history,  she  seemed  amazed  and  delight- 
ed. All  the  other  apartments  of  the  palace  (which 
is  rapidly  falling  to  decay,)  are  occupied  by  trades- 
men and  their  families; — thus  passeth  the  glory  of 
the  world ! 

Went  afterward  to  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark  and 
mounted  the  campanile, — the  wind  was  fresh,  the 
clouds  had  dispersed  and  left  a  clear  atmosphere, — 
snow  fell  the  night  before  and  the  mountains  look 
magnificent. 

Thursday.     A  glorious  day, — surely  I  am  not  again 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  191 

to  be  balked  to-day.  Venice,  addio  ! — "  the  memory 
of  joys  that  are  past,  is  pleasant  but  mournful  to  the 
soul !" 

Padua,  Priday,  October  20.  I  arrived  here  (twen- 
ty-three miles,)  yesterday  in  three  hours  from  Venice. 
At  three  o'clock  I  was  sauntering-  about  this  vener- 
able town.  The  rail  road  made  a  mile  in  fifty-eig-ht 
seconds  by  my  watch, — the  country  is  flat  and  unin- 
teresting-. The  Palace  of  Reason  is  a  rich  old  struc- 
ture standing-  in  the  middle  of  a  great  Piazza, — it 
contains  the  lonsfest  sins'le  room  in  the  world, — three 
hundred  feet  long-,  one  hundred  wide,  and  one  hun- 
dred hig-h, — lotteries  are  drawn  there.  The  church 
of  ^S*^.  Justina  is  a  wonder, — it  strikes  one  at  first 
entrance  as  being-  larger  than  St.  Peters  ! — the  sym- 
metry of  its  parts,  and  the  harmony  of  the  ensemble,  is 
superior  in  my  opinion  to  any  thing- 1  ever  saw, — the 
mere  foundation  to  all  the  material  was  orig-inally 
intended  for  its  entire  construction  !  Paul  Veronese 
has  a  good  picture  of  the  martyrdom  of  the  saint. 
St.  Antonio  is  a  brilliant  of  the  first  water, — built  in 
the  ancient  gothic  style,  it  has  six  cupolas,  flanked 
by  two  bell  towers, — the  interior  is  wonderful ! — 
the  sculptures,  bronzes,  bas-reliefs,  are  all  in  keep- 
ing with  the  architecture  of  the  church,  and  is  the 
only  entire  specimen  of  Gothic  to  my  conception  I 
know  of, — it  satisfies  one  entirely.  The  Chapel  of 
St.  Felice,  said  to  have  been  painted  in  fresco  before 
Giotto,  is  superior  in  execution  to  Giotto, — there    is 


192  MEMOIR    OF 

much  by  Donatello,  beside  the  splendid  equistrian 
statue  of  Ei'asmus  cli  JVani^  in  front  of  the  building. 
The  tomb  of  St.  Antonio  is  the  great  attraction,  and 
devotees  flock  around  it  all  the  day, — it  is  by  Sanso- 
vino,  and  worthy  of  him,  though  the  original  burying 
place  at  its  side,  painted  in  fresco  in  1075,  is  much 
more  suited  for  a  grave  house.  The  University,  as 
you  stand  in  the  yard,  presents  nothing  to  the  eye 
but  "  coats  of  arms  "  and  heads  of  men, — both  the 
lower  and  upper  stories  are  literally  lined, — there  is 
no  room  for  after-comers ; — the  obsei'vatory,  a  former 
prison  of  Ezzelino  da  Romana,  rises  above  it  alL 
La  prato  della  Valle  has  no  rival, — an  island  in  the 
city, — it  is  of  an  elliptical  form,  five  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  feet  long,  and  three  hundred  and  twen- 
ty-four broad,  and  is  surrounded  by  water  brought  in 
from  the  Brenta, — four  beautiful  litde  bridges  cross 
the  canal,  and  inside  and  outside  the  canal,  and  en- 
tirely around  this  green  spot,  are  splendid  statues  of 
Paduan  favourites, — some  strangers,  two  of  Canova's 
are  among  them.  Pyramids,  etruscan  vases,  etc.,  are 
placed  all  over  the  grounds.  It  is  a  perfect  gem, — 
the  races  are  run  around  it. 

At  the  Stella  d'oro  I  had  a  quarrel  with  the  fat 
omnibus  driver  that  brought  me  to  the  Hotel ; — it 
helps  to  circulate  the  blood,  these  storms  in  a  strange 
language,  so  much  is  done  by  the  raising  of  shoul- 
ders and  eye  brows ! 

Started  at  two  o'clock  for   Vicenza  and   Verona 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  193 

with  the  smoothest  faced  villain  I  ever  had  the  ill 
luck  to  ride  with, — bargained  with  him  to  g-o  to  Ve- 
rona for  ten  zwanzig-ers,  at  Vicenza ;  however,  at 
night  he  came  to  my  room  to  beg  for  tlie  half,  five 
francs, — I  denied  the  justice  of  the  claim, — we  both 
warmed  up,  and  for  twenty  minutes  boiled  with 
wrath, — as  usual  nothing  was  settled  then,  but  at  the 
end  of  the  journey  I  had  the  ten  francs  to  pay.  Ar- 
rived at  Vicenza  (eighteen  miles,)  at  five  o'clock.  I 
strolled  around  it, — went  to  see  the  Palazzo  Vecchio, 
and  many  of  the  churches.  Started  at  five  next 
morning  for  Verona,  (thirty  miles  off',) — I  remained 
two  hours  at  Verona, — first  went  to  Juliet's  grave! — • 
quoted  Shakspeare  over  it,  picked  a  tuft  of  grass,  etc ; 
thence  to  the  Olympic  Circus, — thence  to  the  splendid 
tombs  of  the  Scaglieri, — then  took  a  seat  for  Mantua, 
(twenty-five  miles  distant,) — rode  part  of  the  way 
with  a  clever,  chatty  gentleman,  and  arrived  at  Man- 
tua at  seven,  p.  m.  Rose  in  the  morning  early,  and 
walked  about  the  wide  streets  of  the  city, — took  cof- 
fee, and  struck  a  bargain  to  be  off*  at  nine  o'clock  for 
Guastalla,  eighteen  miles  farther.  A  splendid  road, 
but  a  horse  that  heeded  not  his  guide,  nor  the  bur- 
then he  bore, — however,  by  dint  of  whipping  we 
reached  our  post  at  two  o'clock,  and  engaged  a  fellow 
to  take  me  to  Parma,  twenty-two  miles,  for  five  francs. 
Before  we  started,  however,   the  police  sent  word 

that  my  passport  had  not  been  seen  and  stamped  at 
25 


194  MEMOIR    OP 

Mantua, — confound  these  little  possessions !  I  only 
stopped  twelve  hours  in  the  place,  and  besides,  it  was 
not  asked  for  at  the  Hotel,  a  thing-  I  never  knew 
them  before  fail  to  do,  when  necessary,  (and  often 
when  quite  unnecessary,  as  they  make  money  by  it). 

So  here  was  I  paraded  about  the  town  by  a  sol- 
dier, followed  by  the  driver  of  the  coach  I  was  to 
start  with,  who  was  quarrelling"  with  me  about  de- 
taining- his  other  passengers, — what  a  fig-ure  I  cut 
here  to  be  sure, — Sunday, — every  body  in  the  street, 
and  I  "  the  observed  of  all  observers,"  sputtering  a 
foreig-n  lang-uag-e,  and  looking-  as  fiercely  as  I  could 
at  my  opponent, — what  a  farce !  After  an  hour  and 
a  half's  detention,  I  was  sped  on  my  way,  instead  of 
being  sent  back  to  Mantua,  which  I  assuredly  would 
have  been,  but  for  the  kind  interference  of  a  fellow 
passenger,  a  man  some  fifty  years  of  age,  a  resi- 
dent in  Parma, — had  served  many  a  gay  Frenchman 
during  the  wars  of  Napoleon, — talked  French  well, 
and  was  so  kind  and  useful  to  me,  as  to.  win  my 
heart  entirely, — he  argued  my  case  so  well  before 
the  authorities  that  they  gave  in,  and  I  got  out  of 
Guastalla.  Blessings  on  the  old  gentleman !  At 
eight  o'clock  arrived  at  Parma,  dined  and  went  to 
bed  fagged. 

Monday^  Oct.  23.  Rose  early, — read  my  guide 
book,  and  started  to  find  my  way  about, — my  organ 
of  locality  is  improving, — first  fell  in  with  the  Stic- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  195 

cato^  a  beautiful  church  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross, 
— the  cupola  well  painted, — strolled  about  the  grand 
place,  and  passed  Maria  Louisa's  residence,  (she  is 
in  the  country,)  and  found  the   Cathedrale,  which  is 
the  chief  attraction  to  the  artist.     The  grand  cupola 
was  painted  by  Correggio,  and  places  him  by  the 
side  of  M.  Angelo  and  Raphael, — time  and  damp- 
ness have  almost  obliterated  many  parts,  but  there  is 
enough  left  in  a  complete  form  to  stamp  the  charac- 
ter of  the  artist's  mind, — sublime  and  grand  in  con- 
ception, and  marvellously  wrought  out, — some  of  his 
prophets  and  sybils  are  next  kin  to  M.  Angelo's  1 
The  graceful  movements  of  his  angels  superior  to 
any  save  Raphael !     At  St.  John's  Church  there  are 
earlier  works  with  the  same  feeling, — his  ^^Hunt  of 
Diana"  in   an  old  convent,  (strange  subject  for  a 
holy  residence !)  is  very  various  and  exquisite, — the 
small   figures   in   black   and   white  especially, — the 
'■^Satyr    blowing    a    Conch,^^    is    inimitable.     I    went 
thence  to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  where  I  staid 
the  rest  of  the  day,  before  the  two  pictures  of  Cor- 
reggio,  ^^St.  Jerome"  and  the  ^^  Return  from  Egypt" 
I   have    been    pleased,    delighted,   charmed,    whilst 
standing  in  the  presence  of  Titian,  Paul  Veronese 
and  Tintoretto, — but  I  have  never  been  spell-bound 
before,  as  I  was  by  St.  Jerome, — I  could  not  tear 
myself  away  from  this  fac  simile  of  nature's  own 
self,  in  her  loveliest  moment, — color  can  do  no  more, 


196  MEMOIR    OF 

— by  some  mysterious  manag'emenl,  tint  floats  into 
tint,  and  lig-ht  and  shade  mingle  so  softly  tog-ether,  as 
to  form  a  globe  of  light  that  the  eye  is  never  willing 
to  turn  from, — there  are  no  lines, — no  clue, — one  sur- 
face of  floating  vehicle  that  cannot  be  caught,  plays 
before  the  vision  and  eludes  enquiry.  To  copy  such 
a  work  is  impossible, — it  is  the  oflfspring  of  a  pecuHar 
mind,  and  none  other  can  produce  it  wnth  the  same 
felicity, — one  thing  is  strange, — I  have  never  liked 
the  picture,  though  I  have  often  seen  the  copy  by 
Baroccio,  in  the  Pitti  at  Florence,  and  engravings  of 
it,  but  the  first  view  of  the  original  changed  all  my 
ideas.  The  Virgin  and  the  kneeUng  Saint  are  lovely 
female  heads, — the  Angels  and  the  Saviour  are  not 
handsome,  but  almost  appear  so,  from  the  effect  of 
the  surprising  quality  of  color, — and  the  colors  so 
simple !  Naples  yellow,  Venetian  red  in  flesh,  and 
Vermillion  in  St.  Jerome's  drapery,  and  ultra  marine, 
— the  sleeve  and  leg  of  the  Saint  kneeling  are  pale 
neutral  lilac,  very  faint,  almost  lead  color, — the  cur- 
tain a  deep  orange.  "T/ie  Return  from  Egypt"  has 
the  same  simplicity, — burnt  umber  and  asphaltum 
for  fore-ground  shadows,  over  raw  umber  and  white, 
and  other  cool  colors. 

A  very  fine  '^Entombment, "  by  Tintoretto,  is  here. 

I  have  dined  and  written  up  my  journal,  and  must 
now  prepare  for  the  diligence  at  five  in  the  morning. 
Well,  Parma  and  Correggio  have  been  seen !     How 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  197 

many  facilities  have  I  possessed, — it  is  time  to  shew 
what  use  I  can  and  will  make  of  them.  To  Rome, 
to  Rome !  Nous  verrons !  Parma  Locanda  delle 
Tedeschi. 

Here  closes  this  ag-reeable  Journal, — the  record  of 
the  influences  of  the  beauties  of  nature  and  of  the 
works  of  art  upon  his  poetic  mind.  And  what  more 
fitting-  work,  had  he  made  a  choice,  could  he  have 
selected  for  the  climax  of  his  enjoyment  in  art? — ^S*^. 
Jerome  of  Parma ! — one  of  the  three  finest  pictures 
in  the  world, — by  many  thought  the  greatest ! 

In  a  letter  to  an  artist  friend*  in  New  York,  he 
thus  writes  of  this  visit  to  Parma : 

'■'■  At  Mantua  I  stopped  a  night,  and  at  Parma  staid 
a  day.  Correggio  is  there  in  all  his  glory.  His 
church  ceilings  remind  me  of  M.  Angelo ;  his  picture 
of  ^'St.  Jerome^^  in  the  Academy,  is  the  most  splendid 
picture  for  color  in  the  world !  I  was  fresh  from 
Venice,  yet  this  picture  in  an  instant  took  possession 
of  me,  and  chased  away  the  memory  of  those  splen- 
did things,  with  which  for  three  months,  I  had  been 
familiar.  It  cannot  be  copied.  Correggio  himself, 
never  equalled  it  again.  For  my  own  pleasure,  I 
would  rather  possess  it  than  the  Transfiguration  of 
Raphael,  which  I  have  seen  fifty  times,  but  have 
never  been  so  fascinated  by  its  beauties.     I  sat  before 

J.  H.  Shegogue,  Esq.,  N.  A. 


198  MEMOIR  OP 

this  Corregg-io  from  eleven  o'clock  till  five  in  the 
afternoon,  only  glancing-  at  the  things  about  me, 
to  relieve  my  eye  occasionally  from  its  dazzling 
richness.  I  left  Parma  for  Bologna,  where  I  had 
previously  spent  some  time, — and  now  comes  an 
epoch  in  my  hfe.  Arrived  within  fifteen  miles  of 
Bologna,  my  passport  was  carefully  examined  and 
found  to  be  wanting  the  signature  of  the  Pope's  rep- 
resentative at  Venice,  to  pass  through  this  part  of 
his  dominions,  (at  present  in  a  state  of  insurrection). 
I  was  suspected  of  being  some  wild  repubhcan  spirit, 
hastening  to  join  the  revolutionists,  and  was  not  only 
not  allowed  to  proceed,  but  not  permitted  to  remain 
at  the  point  I  had  already  reached ;  the  police  ordered 
me  immediately  out  of  town;  there  was  nothing  left 
for  me  but  obedience.  I  was  then  but  one  day's 
journey  from  my  destination,  Florence ;  by  this  sad 
misfortune,  I  was  obliged  to  take  a  one  horse  con- 
veyance, and  to  avoid  the  Pope's  possessions,  was 
forced  to  cross  one  of  the  worst  ranges  of  the  Ap- 
pennines,  at  this  season  a  terrible  undertaking,  and 
for  four  days  amidst  rain,  wind,  snow  and  hail 
I  plied  my  way ;  it  lost  me  so  many  precious  days, 
and  the  exposure  has  fixed  a  cold  upon  my  lungs, 
which  I  fear  will  cost  me  more.  This  is  a  small 
inkling  of  the  sweets  of  this  form  of  government, 
and  the  Poetry  of  Italy." 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  199 

Too  true  was  his  worst  foreboding"!  Here  was 
contracted  the  fell  disease  which  g-radually  and  pro- 
gfressively  sapped  his  fine  constitution,  and  after  a 
protracted  and  painful  illness  brought  him  to  the  cold 
and  silent  g-rave.  From  a  letter  on  "The  Consular 
System,"  by  C.  Edwards  Lester,  late  Consul  at 
Genoa,  I  find  among-  his  notices  of  the  violation  of 
the  rig-hts  of  our  citizens  in  foreig^n  countries,  men- 
tion of  this  outrag-e : 

"During-  the  recent  disturbances  in  the  Pontifical 
States,  an  American  artist  was  arrested  in  his  journey 
from  Venice  to  Bolog-na,  on  suspicion  of  being-  con- 
cerned in  some  movement  hostile  to  the  Court  of 
Rome.  Not  the  slig-htest  evidence  existed  of  any 
such  connection,  nor  was  any  charg-e  preferred 
ag-ainst  him.  He  was  ordered  by  the  police  to  leave 
Bolog-na  within  one  hour,  or  his  head  would  pay  the 
forfeit.  He  could  not  g-o  forward  without  the  safe 
conduct  of  the  local  authorities  and  he  could  not  g-o 
back.  He  fled  from  Bolog-na  with  all  haste,  and 
abandoning-  the  roads,  where  he  might  have  easily 
fallen  a  prey  to  the  barbarity  of  the  carrabinieri,  he 
escaped  to  the  mountains,  and  made  his  way,  as  best 
he  could,  to  Rome.  It  was  in  the  coldest  winter 
season,  and  exposure,  hung-er  and  fatig-ue  sowed  the 
seeds  of  pulmonary  consumption  in  his  system,  which 
brought  him  to  the  grave  in  a  few  weeks!  A  wretch- 
ed and  innocent  victim  of  tyranny ! " 


200  MEMOIR    OF 

"  This  promising  young-  artist's  name  was  De  Veaux 
from  South  Carohna.  I  am  astonished  that  chivalric 
State  has  not  before  now  laid  the  case  before  the 
President,  insisting-  that  satisfaction  be  demanded 
from  the  Court  of  Rome.  I  was  informed  that  the 
g-entleman  who  was  then  our  Consul  at  Rome,  nei- 
ther asked  any  explanation  of  the  matter,  from  the 
government  of  his  holiness,  nor  even  communicated 
any  information  on  the  subject  to  his  own  govern- 
ment at  home!"* 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Rome,  he  was  attacked 
with  spitting  of  blood,  which  he  neglected  for  several 
days, — until  a  more  severe  hemorrhage  alarmed  both 
himself  and  friends,  and  required  the  call  of  a  phy- 
sician. To  the  affectionate  interest  and  devoted 
friendship  of  W.  B.  Chambers,  Esq.,  of  Carlisle,  Pa., 
was  he  indebted  for  all  that  the  warmest  sympathy 
and  most  untiring  attention  could  do  for  him.  To 
that  kind  friend  am  I  deeply  obligated  for  weekly 
advices  of  the  condition  of  De  Veaux.  The  progress 
of  his  case  is  so  well  described  in  one  of  these  com- 
munications, that  I  cannot  avoid  transcribing  a  portion 
of  it  here ;  I  trust  he  will  pardon  the  liberty  I  have 
taken  with  his  affectionate  letters. 

*  The  Artist,  the  Merchant  and  the  Statesman,  vol.  1,  p.  224. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  201 


"SUBIACO, 


My  Dear  Sir: — You  had  surmised  the  truth  in 
supposing-  that  poor  De  Veaux's  course  was  finished 
ere  you  wrote.  He  was  then  indeed  we  trust  with 
his  God  forever  and  ever.  I  supposed  at  times 
during-  the  last  two  months  of  his  illness  that  he 
might  survive  a  few  days,  but  all  who  saw  him  could 
only  desire  that  it  mig"ht  be  so,  his  suffering-s  were  so 
g-reat. 

My  acquaintance  commenced  a  year  and  a  half 
since  with  him,  on  my  first  arrival  in  Rome.     I  had 

no   letter   to  him,   but  on  mentioning-  Mrs.  C 's 

name  to  him,  he  welcomed  me  as  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. Mrs.  C.  had  often  spoken  of  him  in  the 
highest  terms  to  me,  and  he  had  many  questions  to 
ask  about  her  and  her  family,  so  that  I  soon  felt  at 
home  with  him.  We  did  not  then  become  very  in- 
timate, he  had  already  formed  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Rossiter,  American 
artists,  then  living-  in  Florence,  long-  before  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him;  still,  though  we  were  not 
intimate,  I  always  went  to  him  for  counsel  and  ad- 
vice,— no  one  I  considered  so  capable  of  giving  it. 
Last  fall  after  his  unfortunate  journey  from  Venice, 
we  met  in  Florence  and  returned  to  Rome  together, ,, 
took  lodgings  in  the  same  house  and  were  together 

during  the  month  of  November.     He  then  found  a 
26 


202  MEMOIR    OF 

Studio,  but  was  oblig^ed  to  take  the  chamber  with  it, — 
this  we  regretted  as  it  separated  us,  and  we  had  l| 
passed  a  month  dehg-htfully  tog-ether.  Two  days 
after  moving-  he  had  his  first  spitting-  of  blood, — he 
told  me  it  came  on  whilst  he  was  sitting-  at  his  table, 
writing-  in  the  evening,  and  was  evidently  much 
alarmed.  He  then  no  longer  delayed  calling-  on  a 
physician,  which  I  had  urg'ed  him  to  do  before.  The 
physician  recommended  leeches' to  be  applied.  He 
left  a  note  at  my  room  requesting-  me  to  come  and 
see  them  applied  the  next  morning-.  I  went,  and  as 
I  entered  the  room  he  had  another  raising-  of  blood; 
he  was  exceedingly  agitated  and  walking  up  and 
down  his  room  said,  'oh  dear  Chambers,  what  does 
this  mean?  Can  death  be  very  near?'  I  said  all  I 
could  to  soothe  him,  and  that  there  was  no  immedi- 
ate danger,  etc.  The  bleedings  returned  almost 
every  day  for  a  week,  and  his  friends  were  with  him 
constantly  day  and  night.  Mr.  R.  and  myself  spent 
the  first  two  weeks  with  him,  and  as  he  seemed  on 
the  recovery,  we  engaged  a  woman  to  stay  with  him 
constantly  night  and  day, — his  friends  seeing  him 
during  the  day  and  evening.  I  was  able  to  be  with 
him  more  than  the  others,  not  having  a  studio,  but 
drawing  from  plaister  and  copying  in  the  galleries, 
whilst  the  others  had  their  commissions  to  execute, 
and  not  so  much  time  at  their  command.  De  Veaux 
also  expressed  to  me  his  wish  that  I  should  be  with 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  203 

him  as  much  as  possible; — this  I  did  during-  his 
illness,  seeing-  him  every  day,  several  times,  some- 
times spending-  the  last  part  of  the  day  with  him. 
For  any  attention  I  shewed  him  I  was  amply  repaid 
by  the  g-rateful  manner  in  which  he  received  it. 
One  reason  of  our  intimacy  was  the  inability  of  most 
of  his  friends  to  have  any  conversation  with  him  on 
religious  subjects,  owing  to  some  having-  had  no  re- 
lig-ious  education,  and  a  disinclination  in  others  to 
converse  on  such  subjects.  I  myself  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  religious  manner,  and  although  I 
have  often  acted  contrarv  to  the  dictates  of  a  sound 
conscience,  I  feel  the  restraining  influence  of  a  moth- 
er's early  counsels  and  prayers.  Our  friend  eaily  in 
his  illness,  expressed  the  wish,  as  soon  as  he  was 
able,  to  connect  himself  with  the  church,  but  God 
ordered  it  otherwise, — he  did  indeed  by  partaking* 
the  communion  with  some  o(  his  friends,  sig-nify  to 
all  his  intentions  on  this  subject.  Nor  did  his  inter- 
est end  on  himself, — he  loved  to  converse  with  all 
his  acquaintances  and  urge  on  them  the  importance 
of  preparing-  for  a  dying  bed  whilst  in  health,  as  few 
would  probably  have  the  same  time  afforded  them, 
with  which  he  was  favoured.  The  last  week  of  his 
illness  he  sent  for  two  of  his  American  friends  who 
were  about  returning  home, — they  feared  agitatii^g- 
him,  but  he  said  he  must  see  them, — they  came, — he 
talked  long-  and  earnestly  to  them  on  the  subject  of 


204  MEMOIR  OF 

religion, — they  were  both  overcome.  One  threw 
himself  on  the  bed  and  kissing-  and  bathing-  poor 
De  Veaux's  hands  with  his  tears,  assured  him  he 
should  never  forg-et  his  counsels.  When  he  first 
realized  his  disease  had  taken  a  turn  that  would  in 
all  probability  end  fatajjy,  he  set  calmly  about  pre- 
paring for  that  great  event.  A  week  previously  I 
had  begun  to  fear  the  worst, — it  alarmed  me  to  see 
him  declining  and  apparently  losing  strength  every 
day.  Such  a  week  I  hope  never  to  pass  again.  In 
the  midst  of  these  symptoms  he  would  talk  to  me 
about  his  future  plans  for  the  summer  and  winter.  I 
listened  but  could  scarcely  make  any  reply,  nor  did  I 
dare  to  tell  him  my  opinion ;  his  physician  not  hav- 
ing stated  yet  what  he  thought  of  his  case.  I  entered 
the  room  soon  after  the  physician  had  told  him  some- 
thing of  his  condition.  He  had  already  written  a 
memorandum  of  all  that  he  wished  done  after  his 
death, — handing  it  to  me  he  desired  me  to  read  it 
and  be  guided  by  it  in  arranging  his  affairs.  It  was 
a  solemn  and  affecting  scene,  such  as  I  had  never 
witnessed, — he  called  me  to  his  side,  and  said  "  now 
I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  prepare  for  my  death." 
This  calmness  did  not  always  continue, — in  speak- 
ing of  yourself  one  day,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  said 
"oh!  that  I  could  see  Dr.  Gibbes  once  more,  it  is 
so  hard  to  part  and  not  see  him  again," — of  yourself, 
his  mother,  and  Mr.  W.  H.  jr.,  he  spoke  constantly, — 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  205 

of  Col.  H.,  Mr.  P.  and  Mrs.  H.  and  Mr.  M.,  he  said 
gfreater  kindness  had  no  one  received,  than  he  from 
you  all,  particularly  yourself  Of  his  kind  friends 
here,  I  must  not  forg^et  to  mention  particularly  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  from  New  York,  to  whom  De  Veaux 
was  very  much  attached ; — sometimes  he  would  send 
for  Mr.  H's.  pictures,  admiring-  his  talents  very  much, 
— a  few  days  before  his  death  he  sent  for  one, — after 
looking*  at  it  some  time,  and  expressing  his  plea- 
sure at  seeing  it,  he  said,  '  take  it  away,  I  wish  to 
see  no  more  paintings,  I  am  going  to  a  better  place,' 
pointing  to  the  blue  sky,  '  my  home  will  soon  be  be- 
yond that.' " 

*4A,  M,  aL.  ^  -u-  .^t 

•Ir  TT  TT  tP  "Tr  'TV* 

In  the  month  of  February,  1844,  he  seemed  to  im- 
prove for  a  short  time,  and  to  give  hopes  to  his  friends 
of  recovery.  At  this  time  he  was  able  to  write  two 
letters,  one  to  his  mother,  the  other  to  myself.  From 
the  latter  is  the  following  extract : 

"  From  my  friend  Chambers  you  have  had  several 
letters,  and  I  suppose  full  accounts  of  my  misfortune, 
— a  burstinof  blood-vessel  and  the  loss  of  eio"ht  or  ten 
pounds  of  blood  in  as  many  days,  carried  me  down 
to  death's  door, — God  heard  my  cries  for  help,  and 
from  the  long  terrible  night  which  threatened  to  en- 
gulph  me,  he  drew  me  back  to  give  me  time  for  prayer 
and  repentence, — a  warning  so  frightful  how  can  I 


206  MEMOIR    OP 

ever  forg-et?  May  all  my  hours  be  spent  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Him  who  has  borne  with  me  so  long,  and  at 
last  chastened  me  severely,  that  I  mig-ht  know  the 
extent  of  his  fatherly  love,  and  search  hereafter  with 
heart,  mind  and  body,  'to  work  out  my  soul's  salva- 
tion with  fear  and  trembling*,' 

"  To-day  is  the  sixty-fourth  day  of  my  confinement 
to  my  chamber, — the  weather  has  for  one  month  and 
more  been  rainy  and  windy  and  cold,  and  there  are 
now  no  signs  of  its  breaking".  I  am  promised  a  ride 
the  first  fine  day,  and  shall  rejoice  to  see  St.  Peter's 
Dome  ag"ain.  I  hope  to  mend  faster  when  I  g'et  a 
little  fresh  air,  and  soon  be  able  to  work, — thoug-h  it 
will  be  a  long"  time  before  I  can  do  much, — this  to 
me  is  a  source  of  much  grief, — but  who  can  resist 
the  hand  of  the  Almighty?  Two  days  work  was 
all  I  did  in  my  studio  before  I  sickened." 

Mr.  Chambers,  in  one  of  his  kind  letters,  mentions 
the  progress  of  his  case  from  this  time : 

"  Two  days  after  writing  you,  he  rode  out  for  the 
first  time,  and  enjoyed  it  exceedingly, — that  evening 
a  diarrhoea  came  on,  which  lasted  two  days,  and 
made  him  very  weak, — after  two  days  he  rode  out 
again,  by  the  Doctor's  advice,  and  again  it  returned 
and  weakened  him  so  much  that  he  never  recovered, 
and  now  his  cough  troubles  him  at  night,  and  tears 
his  poor  body  very  much.     For  the  last  four  weeks  he 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  207 

has  been  declining  gradually, — and  you  cannot  im- 
agine my  feelings,  my  dear  sir,  when  the  truth  flashed 
across  my  mind,  that  he  was  sinking  to  rise  no  more. 
The  Doctor  examined  his  chest  with  the  Stethoscope, 
and  has  given  certainty  to  our  fears,  and  thinks  it  im- 
possible for  our  poor  friend  to  live  long.  He  has 
himself  remarked  his  loss  of  flesh  and  strength,  and 
is  evidently  more  emaciated  than  he  was  a  week 
since, — his  only  cause  of  suffering  now  is  the  cough, 
which  sometimes  almost  takes  the  breath  from  him. 
His  friends  are  often  with  him,  and  he  wants  for  no- 
thing to  make  him  as  comfortable  as  he  can  be  away 
from  his  friends.  Whilst  we  lament  his  case,  we 
have  great  cause  for  comfort  and  thankfulness,  as  he 
seems  fully  prepared  for  his  last  change.  It  is  plea- 
sant to  be  with  him,  he  is  so  calm,  and  looks  to  the 
future  with  no  dread.  He  is  perfectly  resigned  to 
God's  will,  and  expects  to  enter  a  better  and  brighter 
world,  when  it  shall  please  God  to  call  him  hence. 
He  is  anxious  to  tell  his  friends  his  hopes,  and  advises 
them  continually  to  seek  preparation  for  a  dying  bed 
before  they  are  laid  there.  Sometimes  he  is  sad  and 
and  depressed,  but  nothing  else  can  be  expected. 
Every  day  he  talks  of  you  and  his  friends,  but  says 
he  cannot  hope  to  see  you,  and  '  God's  will  be  done.' 
He  has  received  your  letter  giving  him  an  account  of 
the  success  of  his  '  Bandit,'  which  gave  him  great 
pleasure,   and  your  bright  anticipations  of   his  high 


208  MEMOIR  OF 

promise  in  art  affected  him  very  deeply.  Last  week 
he  expressed  a  desire  to  partake  of  the  communion, 
and  as  there  was  an  American  clerg-yman  here, 
(Mr.  Storrs,  of  Whitestown,  N.  Y.)  he  officiated,  and 
Mr.  De  Veaux  enjoyed  it  very  much.  The  Rev.  Mr, 
Storrs  visits  our  friend  daily,  and  his  visits  are  always 
most  ag-reeable  to  him. 

He  sits  up  daily,  and  I  suppose  it  impossible  to  speak 
with  any  certainty  of  the  duration  of  his  illness.  His 
lustrous  black  eye  is  now  sunken,  but  as  brilliant  as 
ever,  but  he  is  so  weak  and  emaciated,  and  his  coug-h 
so  tears  his  poor  frame,  that  I  am  compelled  to  join  in 
his  own  prayer,  that  death  may  speedily  relieve  his 
suffering's.  He  said  to  me  this  morning-,  '  oh  !  I  wish, 
if  it  is  not  wrong-,  that  I  may  be  speedily  released 
from  these  sufferings.'  He  has  but  little  appetite,  yet 
that  is  constantly  supplied  by  the  kindness  of  his  fe- 
male American  friends,  who  send  him  jelly,  custard, 
etc.,  or  whatever  he  fancies.  Our  dear  friend  is  one 
that  made  friends  wherever  he  went, — no  one  is 
his  enemy,  and  all  seek  to  alleviate  his  affliction. 
While  I  reg-ret  that  one  with  his  talents,  and  who 
promised  to  do  honor  to  his  country  is  thus  early 
called  away,  yet  I  thank  God  that  he  departs  to  be 
with  Christ  forever." 

The  next  letter  is  his  last,  and  one  of  a  touching* 
and  mournful  character, — his  farewell !   to  myself, — 


t 

JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  209 

the  friend  of  his  early  youth, — the  admirer  of  his 
maturer  years.  I  feel  that  I  would  do  injusUce  to 
the  memory  of  the  departed,  were  I  to  withhold  it. 

"  Rome,  March  — ,  1844. 
From  my  dear  and  faithful  friend,  Chambers,*  who 
I  has  been  with  me  in  all  my  sickness,  and  helped  me 
by  his  relig'ious  counsels,  you  will  receive  full  ac- 
counts of  my  condition, — do  lorite  fully  to  iny  poor 
mothe?',  as  there  is  none  other  I  wish  to  do  it,  and  do  it 
as  kindly  as  possible.  When  I  wrote  you  a  month 
ag'o,  I  hoped  myself  out  of  danger,  and  had  been 
improving".  Since  then  all  has  changed, — and  now 
physician  and  friends  seem  to  think  me  past  recove- 
ry. I  have  resigned  myself  to  God,  who  in  His 
goodness  has  given   me  three  months  for  prayer  and 


*Frotn  Mr.  D.  Huntingdon,  the  most  distinguished  of  our  younger  artists,  I 
take  pleasure  in  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  a  sketch  of  De  Veaux  a  few 
days  before  his  death.  An  extract  from  his  letter  having  a  special  reference  to 
the  excellent  Mr.  Chambers,  I  think  deserves  to  be  here  given. 

"About  the  time  of  my  making  the  sketch,  being  alone  M'ith  our  dear  friend, 
he  called  me  to  his  bed-side,  and  expressed  his  deep  gratitude  for  the  kindness 
and  never-failing  watchfulness  of  Mr.  Chambers, — and  his  thankfulness  to 
God  for  having  provided  for  him  so  true  a  Christian  friend  in  the  time  of  need. 
He  desired  me  to  write  to  you  and  say  how  much  Chambers  had  done  for  him. 
'  Tell  him,'  he  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  '  how  he  has  watched  over  me, — bow 
he  has  sacrificed  his  time,  studies  and  heahh,  to  be  my  comforter,  companion 
and  nurse,— how  he  has  been  almost  a  mother  and  sister  to  me,  and  should  he 
at  a  future  time  be  established  as  a  painter  in  Philadelphia,  Dr.  Gibbes  must 
for  my  sake  bear  him  in  mind.'  I  have  given  you,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect, 
the  words  of  our  beloved  friend.  He  died  full  of  deep  penitence  and  lively 
Christian  hope,  and  conversed  in  the  most  affectionate  manner  with  all  his  fel- 
low students  on  the  hopes  of  another  life,  and  the  necessity  of  a  preparation 
for  it." 

27 


210  MEMOIR    OF 

repentance,  and  feel  a  strong*  hope  that  when  life  is 
past  I  shall  go  to  dwell  with  Christ  forever. 

Whilst  I  have  the  strength,  I  must  attend  to  a 
worldly  matter.  My  gold  watch  and  chain  will  be 
sent  to  you, — you  must  let  your  sons  take  them, — 
let  R wear  one  and  J the  other,  as  memen- 
toes of  me. 

Beg  Mr. to  forgive  me  all  I  owe  him.     I  had 

hoped  this  winter  to  make  my  best  effort  for  him, 
but  all  is  past, — pray  him  for  me  not  to  let  the  world 
draw  him  off  from  God,  but  to  prepare  for  death  and 
judgment,  which  is  the  only  value  of  life, — thank 
him  for  all  his  kindness  to  me,  and  beg  him  to  say 
farewell  to  his  kind  mother  and  brother, — to  my  other 
friends  say  as  much. 

And  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  I  must  now  bid  adieu. 
God's  will  be  done.  May  God  bless  you  for  your 
brotherly  conduct  always  towards  me,  enabling  me  to 
do  much  for  my  poor  family.  I  always  hoped  to  be 
able  to  make  some  small  return,  but  who  can  say  what 
a  day  may  bring  forth  7  Let  me  beseech  you,  my 
dear  friend,  with  wife  and  children,  to  devote  your- 
selves to  the  service  of  God,  taking  no  peace,  night 
or  day,  until  your  sins  are  all  washed,  and  you  are 
sure  that  God  has  blessed  you, — live  for  Heaven  only, 
and  after  a  few  years  of  toil  and  pain,  I  trust  you 
and  I  and  all  of  us  may  meet  around  God's  throne, 
never  to  part  again  ; — shut  in  with  Christ  forever,  we 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  211 

will  spend  tog^ether  the  long-  ag-es  of  eternity, — fare- 
well I  I  pray  to  God  to  spare  me  to  see  you  all 
again, — but  still,  not  my  will,  but  His  be  done.  It 
appears  from  my  reg-ular  decline  that  hope  is  past, — 
and  so  I  say  to  you  and  Mrs.  G.  and  the  dear  chil- 
dren, farewell  for  this  world, — in  the  next  may  we 
have  a  blessed  meeting-, — farewell!  God  prosper 
you  and  prepare  you  for  heaven,  is  my  prayer, — 
farewell ! 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

James  De  Veaux. 
Farewell  till  heaven  unites  us,  which  God  in  His 
mercy  g-rant! — I  have  received  the  sacrament  from 
the  hands  of  Rev.  Mr.  Storrs,  of  New  York.  Mr. 
Huntingdon  and  his  wife,  and  Mr.  Chambers  as- 
sisted.    Farewell !" 

The  following-  from  Mr.  Chambers  was  not  long 
ere  it  arrived,  and  gives  the  closing  scene  of  the 
labours  and  sufferings  and  heavenly  hopes  of  James 
De  Veaux : 

''Rome,  May  4,  1844. 
Dear  Sir :  At  length  I  have  the  sad  intelligence 
to  communicate  of  our  dear  friend  Mr.  De  Veaux's 
death,  which  occurred  at  five  o'clock  on  Sabbath 
morning  last,  April  28th.  On  Saturday  he  had  been 
suffering   in  the  morning,  but  towards  noon  grew 


212  MEMOIR    OP 

easier, — this  continued  all  the  afternoon, — at  sunset 
I  left  him  sleeping".  I  left  him  supposing"  he  might 
perhaps  have  many  days  of  suffering"  yet  to  pass 
throug"h,  as  his  streng-th  at  times  appeared  considera- 
ble. He  continued  quiet  until  an  hour  after  mid- 
night, when  he  began  to  breathe  with  difficulty, — 
this  continued  to  increase,  and  at  two  in  the  morning* 
he  sent  for  me.  I  went  immediately,  and  found  him 
suffering"  not  only  with  a  stoppage  in  his  chest,  but 
also  with  a  sharp  pain  near  his  left  arm  pit  and 
between  his  shoulders, — it  was  very  violent,  and  he 
begged  me  to  do  something"  for  his  relief.  I  tried  to 
calm  him  and  soothe  his  mind,  saying-  it  would  soon 
g-row  easier, — he  frequently  had  before  had  such 
attacks,  though  not  so  violent.  The  thoug-ht  of  his 
dying-  immediately  did  not  occur  to  me,  having"  never 
witnessed,  a  death  bed  in  my  life  before.  After  sit- 
ting by  his  bedside  an  hour,  during-  which  time  he 
had  g-rown  much  quieter,  and  dozed  occasionally,  I 
left  the  seat  and  tried  to  sleep  a  litde,  but  could  not; 
— ^his  breathing-  continued  difficult  and  quick;  occa- 
sionally he  spoke  to  the  nurse  in  his  usual  tone  of 
voice,  asking  for  water,  etc.  Between  four  and  five 
she  went  to  the  window,  and  he  observing"  the  day 
breaking,  told  her  to  open  the  shutter  wide; — this  all 
passed  whilst  I  was  sitting-  at  a  little  distance  from 
him.  After  some  time  I  heard  his  breathing  become 
more  regular,  not  so  quick,  and  soon  after  slower.     I 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  213 

rose  to  g-o  to  his  bedside,  but  the  servant  told  me  to 
keep  quiet,  lest  I  should  disturb  him, — however  I 
went  merely  to  g-lance  at  him.  As  I  stood  looking- 
at  him,  apparently  sleeping-,  I  remarked  the  perspira- 
tion on  his  forehead,  and  on  applying-  my  hand  found 
it  chilly, — it  was  the  damp  of  death  !  I  quickly  felt 
his  hands  and  pulse, — the  latter  was  just  expiring-, — 
he  g-ave  one  long-  breath, — we  both  were  startled, 
the  servant  saying-,  '  Grazia  a  Dio,  adesso  sta  in  Para- 
diso.'     Thank  God !  he  is  now  in  Heaven  ! 

So  finished  the  course  of  our  dear  friend, — he 
seemed  to  have  suffered  no  pain  for  an  hour  or  more 
before  his  death,  but  peacefully  breathed  his  last.  I 
am  rejoiced  that  he  sent  for  me,  and  that  I  had  the 
opportunity  of  being-  with  him  in  his  last  moments. 
That  he  is  gone  to  be  with  his  God  and  his  Saviour 
forever  and  ever,  is  our  full  hope.  It  was  his  ex- 
pectation as  he  clearly  stated  in  his  conversation  with 
the  English  minister,  the  day  before  his  death.  This 
hope  came  to  him  not  suddenly,  but  after  many  long 
days  of  anxiety  and  regret  for  his  past  life  of  neglect 
of  God,  as  he  himself  expressed.  The  entire  week 
before  his  death,  he  looked  for  it  constantly,  saying 
to  me  frequently  as  I  entered  his  chamber  in  the 

morning,   '  well    my  dear  C ■,  I  had    hoped  this 

morning  to  have  been  in  heaven,' — his  thoughts  and 
conversation  were  almost  entirely  on  these  subjects, 
the  fear  of  death  being  quite  taken  away.     This  it 


214 


MEMOIR  OP 


was  that  enabled  me  to  see  him  die,  and  scarcely 
wish  to  call  him  back,  had  it  been  in  my  power.  I 
had  seen  him  go  through  so  much  suffering,  and  could 
only  look  on  death  as  a  welcome  release  from  all 
his  woes;  but  independently  of  that,  his  perfect  rea- 
diness to  go  and  preparation  for  it,  could  we  call  him 
back  to  our  world  of  sin  and  temptation  7  True,  we 
(his  fellow  artists  here,)  have  sustained  a  heavy  loss, 
all  feel  it,  no  one  I  can  say  truly  was  more  universal- 
ly loved  and  respected  than  Mr.  De  Veaux, — but  our 
loss  can  be  nothing  in  comparison  with  that  of  his 
his  friends  and  relatives  at  home, — with  his  poor  mo- 
ther I  do  sympathize  most  sincerely, — but  her  loss 
has  been  his  gain,  yes,  his  eternal  gain  ! 

A  few  days  before  his  death,  an  American  sculp- 
tor, Mr.  H.  K.  Brown,  modelled  Mr.  D's.  profile  in 
clay,  and  made  a  cast  of  it.  It  was  executed  under 
the  greatest  disadvantages  of  his  illness  and  emacia- 
tion, but  is  very  like  him.  Mr.  De  Veaux  was  much 
interested  in  it  while  it  was  going  on,  and  he  told 
me  I  should  let  you  know  if  it  was  good.  It  will  be 
cut  on  his  tombstone,  as  is  frequently  done  here." 

Subsequendy  to  his  death,  at  my  request,  Mr. 
Brown  modelled  his  features  anew  for  a  Bust  to  be 
executed  in  marble.  This  he  has  done  successfully, 
and  the  Bust  has  arrived  safely  at  its  destination. 

The    marble  is  almost  fauUless, — the  mechanical 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  215 

execution  skilful,  and  the  likeness  cannot  be  mista- 
ken by  any  of  his  acquaintances.  There  is  in  it  an 
air  of  classic  eleg-ance  that  adds  g"reatly  to  the  ex- 
pression of  his  fine  Grecian  features,  and  as  a  speci- 
men of  sculpture,  it  would  g-race  any  gallery.  Mr. 
Brown  is  a  man  of  rare  genius,  who  is  just  appearing* 
above  the  horizon  of  American  art.  His  "  David  re- 
turning from  battle  triumphant, ^^  '^ButJi  gleaning  in  the 
field  of  Boaz,^^  and  "^  hoy  arid  a  dog,^^  have  attracted 
much  attention  in  Rome,  and  placed  him  in  the  front 
rank  with  the  sculptors  of  the  day.  His  Bust  of 
De  Veaux  is  a  superb  specimen  of  his  ability  and 
taste. 

From  the  intimate  friend  and  companion  of  De 
Veax,  who  was  with  him  during  his  residence  in 
Florence  and  Venice,  and  part  of  the  time  in  Rome, 
Mr.  Thomas  P.  Rossiter,  I  have  received  a  graphic 
and  full  memorial  of  his  friendship.  The  poetic 
language  and  spirited  style  of  this  sketch  by  the 
pen  of  a  brother  artist  claim  for  it  an  insertion  here, 
— and  although  there  is  necessarily  some  repetition 
of  incidents  previously  noticed,  still  its  truthful  view 
of  the  character  of  De  Veaux,*  and  the  just  estimate 
of  his  genius  and  feelings,    which  Mr.   R.  had   the 


♦  In  the  spring  of  1844,  the  National  Academy  of  Design  of  New  York, 
conferred  on  De  Veaux  the  honor  of  membership,  which  they  had  previously 
accorded  to  Fkaser,  White  and  Cogdell,  of  South  Carolina.  It  would  have 
been  highly  gratifying  to  him  to  have  heard  of  the  compliment,  but  his  day.s 
had  been  numbered  before  the  information  reached  Rome. 


216  MEMOIR    OF 

opportunity  of  forming-,  renders  it  more  worthy  of 
preservation.  I  might  well  have  abbreviated  my 
own  narrative,  and  trusted  the  latter  portion  of  it  to 
this  tribute  of  a  cong-enial  spirit  to  departed  worth. 

"Rome,  Nov.  — ,  1844. 

My  Dear  Sir: — At  the  sohcitation  of  Mr.  Cham- 
bers, I  am  induced  to  address  you  in  relation  to  a 
departed  and  deeply  deplored  friend,  Mr.  De  Veaux ; 
contributing-  as  far  as  it  is  in  my  power  such  intelli- 
g-ence  to  yourself  and  his  many  bereaved  friends  at 
home,  as  came  under  my  observation  during-  the  lat- 
ter part  of  his  residence  in  Europe,  or  more  properly 
speaking-,  the  period  of  his  sojourn  in  Italy.  Often 
in  the  progress  of  his  last  illness,  I  volunteered  to 
communicate  with  his  connexions  in  America,  but 
the  kindness  and  watchfulness  of  Mr.  Chambers, 
with  the  frequent  advices  he  sent  yourself,  of  his 
disease,  rendered  any  additional  expressions  of  his 
situation  on  my  part  superfluous. 

After  his  decease  however,  I  proposed  to  myself 
with  mournful  pleasure  the  task  of  writing-  a  sketch 
of  that  portion  of  the  life  of  one,  who  had  become 
endeared  to  me  by  every  tie  that  characterizes  a 
warm  intercourse,  and  the  incidents  of  whose  career, 
the  noble  qualities  of  whose  heart,  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  whose  nature  were  familiar  to  me  from  con- 
stant and  intimate  communion. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  217 

As  I  left  Rome  two  weeks  after  I  had  seen  his 
remains  consigned  to  their  last  abiding"  place,  the 
interval  did  not  permit  me  to  put  my  wish  into  exe- 
cution,— yet  contemplated,  when  established  in  the 
country  to  draw  up  a  slight  testimonial  to  his  memory 
more  at  my  leisure, — but  I  found  without  the  aid  of 
my  journal  and  memorandums  v/hich  I  had  left  be- 
hind me,  that  I  should  be  at  a  loss  for  dates  and  the 
regular  chain  of  events  which  seemed  necessary.  I 
was  therefore  compelled,  much  against  my  inclination 
and  the  desire  of  Mr.  Chambers,  to  defer  writing  you 
until  I  should  be  again  in  Rome, 

Once  more  here,  my  first  pleasure  is  to  send  you 
such  an  imperfect  memoir  of  our  mutually  lamented 
friend,  as  comes  within  the  limit  of  my  abilities, — 
trusting  it  may  contribute  to  enlighten  those  who 
mourn  his  untimely  fate,  respecting  the  occupation  of 
his  last  years.  I  can  but  hope  that  a  worthier  pen 
than  mine  will  inscribe  his  eulogium. 

Long  before  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  De 
Veaux,  I  had  heard  him  spoken  of  in  the  highest 
terms  of  consideration  and  esteem  by  brother  artists 
and  those  who  knew  him  in  a  more  social  capacity. 
All  were  loud  in  their  commendations,  but  more 
especially  Mr.  Healy,  with  whom  he  lived  on  the 
most  intimate  terms  during  his  residence  at  Paris 
some  years  since, — and  Mr.  Sherwood,  his  state-room 

companion  on  his  last   voyage  to   Europe.      Their 

28 


218  MEMOIR    OF 

exalted  expressions  of  regard  naturally  led  me  to 
desire  the  acquaintance  of  one,  who  possessed  such 
an  array  of  high  and  enviable  qualities  as  were  con- 
ceded to  him  from  every  source, — and  well  did  my 
subsequent  knowledge  of  his  character  justify  the 
praises  that  were  lavished  upon  it. 

It  was  on  Sunday,  the  19th  of  June,  1842,  that  I 
arrived  at  Florence  from  Rome,  where  meeting  with 
my  old  friend  Sherwood,  he  proposed  at  once  intro- 
ducing me  to  Mr,  De  Veaux.  With  this  object  in 
our  view,  we  were  pursuing  our  course  toward  his 
residence  in  Via  Maggia,  when  we  encountered 
him  crossing  the  Arno  on  Ponte  Trinita.  After 
passing  the  usual  compliments  he  joined  us,  and  as  I 
was  a  stranger  in  the  place,  proposed  with  his  pe- 
culiar urbanity  and  kindness  of  manner  to  shew  me 
the  principal  features  of  the  city  so  celebrated  for  its 
objects  of  interest  and  beauty.  His  gentlemanly 
bearing  and  warm  enthusiastic  nature  impressed  me 
at  once,  and  from  that  moment  we  became  close  and 
ardent  friends.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  delight  we 
experienced  as  we  coursed  the  narrow  and  palace 
hned  streets  under  his  guidance,  listening  to  his  in- 
telligent descriptions  or  comments.  How,  in  passing 
the  feudal  edifice  of  a  Strozzi,  a  Ricardi,  or  a  Corsini, 
his  mind  deeply  imbued  with  the  romantic  or  poetical 
character  of  each,  and  conversant  with  their  legends, 
recounted  an  appropriate   passage  of  their   history. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  219 

How,  treading-  the  sombre  aisles  of  the  gig"antic 
Cathedral, — pausing-  ever  and  anon  before  a  shrine 
or  sculptured  monument,  to  note  the  living-  g-roups  at 
their  devotions,  or  those  hewn  vig-orously  from  the 
marble, — and  as  perusing-  the  epitaphs  to  Italia's 
noble  dead,  which  the  sculptured  forms  illustrated, 
he  pointed  to  each  beauty,  and  remarked  upon  their 
individuality  with  the  feeling-  of  a  true  artist.  How, 
before  the  bronze  gates  of  the  Baptistry  he  bid  us 
with  him  recog-nize  the  truth  of  Michael  Ang-elo's  as- 
sertion, that  ''they  were  even  worthy  the  portals  of 
Paradise ;" — how,  seated  on  a  stone,  the  favourite 
resting"  place  of  Dante,  he  impressed  us  with  a  sense 
of  the  homage  he  was  disposed  to  yield  to  genius 
under  all  its  modifications, — whether  in  the  poet  and 
his  associations  with  the  stone, — the  architect  Brun- 
eleschi  and  his  connection  with  the  pile  that  towered 
far  above  us,  surmounted  by  the  "wondrous  dome," — 
or  Giotto,  the  painter  and  author  of  the  lofty  Campa- 
nile,— the  pride  of  Florence  which  rises  stamped 
with  the  more  delicate  tracery  of  beauty,  emulating" 
the  elevation  of  the  soaring  dome.  How,  before 
each  fountain,  beneath  the  loggia  of  Piazza  Vecchio, 
at  each  new  point  of  interest  in  our  rambles,  he 
dwelt  with  the  eloquence  and  enthusiasm  of  one  who 
appreciated  to  their  full  extent  the  treasures  of  mind 
that  were  so  profusely  scattered  on  every  hand. 
The  afternoon  was  lovely,  and  having-  shewn  the 


220  MEMOIR    OP 

most  prominent  objects,  he  chang-ed  the  channel  of 
our  thoughts  by  a  stroll  along-  the  Arno,  where  on 
the  quais  skirting-  the  river  between  Ponte  Vecchio 
and  Ponte  alia  Carraja,  we  found  the  g-ay  Floren- 
tines enjoying-  their  festa  promenade.  Joining-  in 
the  crowd  we  g-azed  on  Itahan  beauty,  and  conver- 
sing on  the  characteristics  of  the  people,  derived 
much  information  from  Mr.  De  Veaux,  who  had  be- 
come now  in  a  measure  famihar  with  the  habits  and 
customs  of  the  Tuscans,  toward  whom  he  inclined  as 
one  of  a  warm  and  ardent  temperament  is  disposed 
to  feel  for  those  of  a  hke  kind  and  g-enerous  nature. 
During  this  walk  he  evinced  an  artistic  love  for  the 
clime  and  attractions  of  Italy,  which  led  from  a  con- 
g-eniality  of  taste  to  the  forming-  of  a  friendship  which 
continued  to  increase  until  his  death.  The  next  day, 
calling-  at  his  studio,  I  fouud  h  m  eng-aged  upon  his 
picture  of  ^Ckrist  administered  to  by  Arigels,^  and 
was  hig-hly  pleased  with  the  composition, — though  at 
that  time  he  had  scarcely  more  than  commenced  it. 
Then  it  was  that  he  told  me  of  the  disappointments 
he  had  experienced  in  not  having-  been  able  to  copy 
in  the  Pitti  Gallery,  as  he  had  anticipated,  and  the 
saddening-,  discourag-ing  effect  it  had  had  on  him. 
For  months  he  had  been  calculating-  on  the  advanta- 
g-es  he  should  derive  from  studying-  and  copying  the 
works  in  this  renowned  collection, — but  the  morning 
of  his  arrival,  on  selecting  the  pictui'es  that  he  most 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  221 

wished  to  execute  for  his  friends  in  America,  he  was 
told  that  it  was  impossible  to  procure  an  admission 
for  six  or  eig'ht  months,  and  possibly  not  before  a 
year,  as  there  were  many  applicants  and  the  number 
limited.  Unprepared  for  such  an  obstacle  to  his 
plans,  the  disappointment  was  so  great  to  his  suscep- 
tible nature  that  it  depressed  and  dispirited  him  to 
such  a  deg-ree,  as  to  prevent  him  from  adopting-  any 
settled  course  for  a  long-  time.  Being-  unable  to  copy 
and  not  feeling-  sufficient  confidence  in  himself  to 
attempt  an  orig-inal  composition  without  more  prepare 
atory  study,  he  was  for  a  season  undetermined  as  to 
the  plan  best  for  him  to  pursue.  At  last  however, 
he  resolved,  after  having-  made  two  copies  of  heads 
in  the  Ufizi  Gallery,  to  attempt  the  subject  he  had 
long-  had  in  his  mind,  of  the  Saviour  ministered  to 
after  his  temptation.  It  was  a  bold  effort  for  one 
who  had  possessed  so  few  opportunities  for  studying" 
composition,  and  in  the  whole  rang-e  of  the  New 
Testament  there  is  scarcely  a  subject  that  requires 
as  delicate  treatment  as  this, — or  one  that  embraces 
so  much  exquisite  poetry.  His  illustration  of  the 
text  therefore  was  considered  highly  praiseworthy 
by  his  brother  artists,  while  the  sentiment  of  some  of 
the  heads  and  figures  displayed  a  pathos  of  feeling 
and  gentleness  of  thought  that  argued  well  for  his 
future  productions,  when  time  should  have  matured 
his  taste,  and  given  precision  to  his  pencil. 


222  MEMOIR    OP 

Upon  this  composition  he  labored  during"  most  of 
the  smumer,  interrupted  occasionally  by  times  devo- 
ted to  making-  studies  and  sketches  from  the  abundant 
material  Florence  and  its  environs  afford  for  the 
port-folio,  that  magazine  from  whence  the  artist 
draws  the  elements  of  his  compositions.  But  while 
he  was  thus  giving-  pleasure  and  gratification  to  his 
friends,  by  his  labors  in  the  studio,  it  was  when 
away  from  the  palette  and  easel,  that  his  high  quali- 
ties of  heart,  the  nobleness  of  his  nature,  and  his 
lofty  tone  of  honor,  which  endeared  him  to  all  who 
knew  him,  were  shewn.  Among  his  countrymen 
and  Enghsh  acquaintances,  he  was  known  as  4he 
noble  fellow  De  Veaux,'  and  from  the  Italians  and 
others,  he  received  the  epithet  of  '  il  Grazioso  Amer- 
icano.^ Those  only  however,  who  have  been  his 
companion  in  the  lengthened  walk,  or  oft  repeated 
tete-a-tete,  could  appreciate  him, — for  although  kind 
and  courteous  to  all, — yet  with  a  few  only,  was  he 
on  those  terms  of  close  intimacy  which  show  the 
depths  of  character, — the  lights,  shadows  and  grada- 
tions of  disposition.  Fortunate  do  I  consider  myself, 
for  having  been  one  of  that  number,  and  grateful  am 
I  for  many  of  the  precepts  and  lessons  he  taught  me. 
In  our  first  rambles  about  the  city,  we  endeavored 
to  seek  out  and  visit  the  studios  of  the  native  and 
foreign  artists,  resident  at  Florence,  and  in  each  he 
displayed  that  just  criticism,  that  wilhngness  to  ac- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  223 

knowledg"e  merit  and  excellence,  however  humble, 
— that  appreciation  of  each  man's  abilities,  which 
shewed  his  mind  to  be  far  above  those  jealousies  and 
conventionalities,  which  too  often  accompany  the  pro- 
fession. After  visiting-  the  more  eminent  artists,  and 
contemplating-  the  g-reat  works  that  filled  their  stu- 
dios, he  would  return  home  dissatisfied  with  his  own 
attempts,  and  desponding-  to  think  that  his  youth  had 
passed,  without  having-  been  able  to  possess  the  ad- 
vantag-es  that  the  students  of  art  in  Europe  enjoy, — 
and  that  so  many  years  of  his  life  had  flown  without 
his  having-  accomplished  more.  It  was  in  vain  that 
his  friends  endeavoured  to  cheer  him, — he  would  ex- 
claim,— '  oh  g-ive  me  back  my  youth  ag-ain,' — I  see 
what  I  require,  but  the  boy  should  commence  a  pro- 
fession like  ours.  Still  these  seasons  of  depression 
had  a  salutary  effect  upon  him,  for  they  led  him  to 
renewed  exertions  and  spurred  him  to  the  attainment^ 
of  a  high  position  in  Art  at  home. 

Shordy  after  my  arrival  in  Florence,  Mr.  De 
Veaux,  G.  L.  Brown,  the  landscape  painter  and  my- 
self met  alternately  at  each  other's  rooms,  once  a 
week,  for  the  purpose  of  sketching-.  This  ag-reeable 
re-union  continued  during-  the  summer,  and  happily 
did  the  evening-s  pass,  as  round  the  well  lighted  table 
the  time  g-lided  away,  as  we  illustrated  some  subject 
proposed  in  sitting-  down, — conversing  the  while  on 
art  and  its  connections.     Here  I  learned   more  of 


224  MEMOIR    OF 

De  Veaux's  ideas  on  art,  and  found  them  high  and 
liberal  in  the  extreme.  His  great  desire  was  to  have 
a  school  in  America  that  should  be  exclusively  na- 
tional, and  long-ed  for  the  day  when  it  should  rival 
those  of  Europe  for  design,  character  and  impor- 
tance. Like  a  true  artist,  he  wished  to  see  the  prom- 
inent points  of  our  history  illustrated  by  competent 
artists,  and  was  looking*  forward  to  the  day,  when  he 
could  contribute  toward  so  glorious  an  achievment. 

Next  to  high  historic  painting  he  was  fond  of  sub- 
jects that  displayed  the  social  virtues,  and  upon  these 
as  initiatory  to  the  more  elevated  walks  he  turned 
his  thoughts, — always  selecting  those  of  a  pure  and 
exalting  quality.  Alive  to  the  mechanical  dexterity 
of  the  art,  and  appreciation  of  individual  nature,  no 
matter  how  lowly,  yet  he  considered  these  as  subor- 
dinate to  thought  and  sentiment,  and  was  willing  to 
forego  such  excellencies  for  an  intellectual  meaning, 
— or  such  motives  as  carried  instruction  and  gratifi- 
cation to  the  heart,  rather  than  the  eye.  Having  a 
just  appreciation  of  the  poetical  capacity  of  art,  le- 
gends and  those  more  mystical  texts  of  Scripture 
that  permitted  a  full  embodiment  of  the  artist's 
thoughts,  delighted  him  more  than  simple  narrative, 
though  such  subjects,  even  if  the  text  was  pure  and 
touching,  had  for  him  an  inexpressible  charm.  In 
thought  therefore,  he  was  a  poetic  artist,  and  had  he 
lived,  would  have  carried  the  tender  sentiment  of  his 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  225 

own  character  into  all  his  works.  His  love  for  Italy 
and  its  artistic  advantag-es  wedded  him  to  this  g-enial 
clime,  rendering-  him  enthusiasdc  upon  all  its  associa- 
dons.  Taking-  up  his  first  residence  at  Florence,  his 
mind  became  imbued  with  the  works  of  the  earlier 
masters  of  that  school,  which  he  studied  with  feeling 
and  discretion.  Drawing  from  the  same  sources  as 
Raffaele  and  Michael  Angelo,  in  the  fresco  and 
chaste  designs  of  Massaccio  and  Angelico  Fiesole, 
he  felt  that  at  last  he  was  in  the  right  path  of  study. 
Thus  in  contemplating-  these  venerable  masters,  he 
trusted  time  would  mature  the  principles  he  was 
drawing-  from  so  pure  a  fountain.  The  intimate  con- 
nexion between  the  revivers  and  perfecters  of  art 
and  Florence,  gave  the  city  to  his  mind  almost  as 
much  charm  as  Mecca  to  the  devout  mussulman,  and 
at  any  time  through  her  Piazzas,  or  along  her  streets 
he  felt  still  the  pervading  vivifying  genius  of  Giotto, 
Donnatelli,  M.  Angelo,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  their  wor- 
thy cotemporaries  and  followers.  Now  an  antiquated 
cloister  would  arrest  his  steps,  and  for  hours  he  would 
gaze  at  the  half  obliterated  frescoes  that  adorned  its 
walls.  Now  straying-  into  a  venerable  church,  he 
would  make  pause  after  pause  before  some  glowing- 
canvass  that  led  the  soul  to  heaven,  or  a  powerfully 
wrought  g-roup  called  into  existence  by  the  men  who 
had  been  his  early  divinities,  long-  before  he  had 

crossed  the  Atlantic.     At  another   time,  he  would 
29 


226  MEMOIR  OF 

Stand  to  contemplate  the  architect's  skill  in  rearing- 
the  proud  piles  that  every  where  surrounded  him, — 
or  in  the  public  garden  of  the  Boboli  and  Cascina, 
g-ive  vent  to  ejaculations  of  praise,  at  the  refining- 
intellectual  spirit  that  pervaded  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  the  fair  land. 

With  an  eye  for  the  beautiful,  no  spot  was  indiffer- 
ent to  him,  and  a  place  so  teeming  with  historical 
incidents  gave  at  all  times  food  to  his  reflecting  mind. 

After  the  labours  of  the  day,  or  on  a  Sunday  after- 
noon, he  was  ever  proposing  a  stroll  through  the  city, 
or  to  some  favourite  point  in  the  environs.  At  one 
time  we  would  wend  our  way  through  the  beautiful 
grounds  of  the  Pitti  palace,  halting  at  every  few 
steps,  to  gaze  along  a  rich  vista  of  statue-lined  paths 
with  fountains  at  different  intervals  sparkUng  merrily 
in  the  sun, — or  a  group  of  children  frolicking  in  glee 
beneath  the  shade  of  cypress  and  pine,— each  turn 
presenting  a  new  picture  of  elegance  and  refinement. 
At  another,  we  would  climb  to  the  heights  of  San 
Miniato,  and  stretched  upon  the  grass,  peer  on  the 
luxuriant  Val  d'Arno  till  the  eye,  fatigued  by  distance, 
rested  on  the  bold  peaks  of  the  Carraras,  bounding 
the  western  horizon, — or  dwell  with  renewed  charm 
after  every  visit,  upon  the  domes  and  towers  beneath 
us,  that  mark  the  sites  where  reposed  the  treasures 
of  Florence.  Again,  and  we  saw  the  sun  dechne 
from  the  heights  of  Fiesole  or  Belle  Guardia,   with 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  227 

the  fervour  and  brilliancy  known  only  in  this  land ; 
and  at  each  locality  he  would  g-ive  way  to  an  en- 
thusiasm such  as  none  but  an  artist  could  manifest 
before  another, — an  enthusiasm  prompted  by  the  ef- 
fervescense  of  a  hig-hly  poetic  temperament. 

I  was  fortunate  in  procuring-  rooms  on  the  Arno, 
with  a  larg-e  balcony  overhang-ing-  the  river,  and 
here,  during-  the  long-  summer  twilights  and  balmy 
evening-s,  it  was  his  delig-ht  to  come  and  converse 
upon  art  and  the  associations  with  Florence,  and 
the  poetry  of  existence  in  such  a  land, — or  sit  mu- 
singly and  g-aze  into  the  western  sky  as  the  gloamin 
set  in, — speculating-  upon  the  spiritual  essences  of 
being-, — seeking-  as  it  were  to  derive  a  solution  to 
his  conjectures  in  each  star  that  came  up  in  the  track 
of  day  to  take  its  place  in  the  darkening  firmament. 
The  evening  hues  of  light, — the  shades  of  evening 
falling  over  the  city  and  distant  mountains, — the 
sweeping  of  the  river's  tide  to  the  ocean, — the  gay 
song  of  the  Florentines  sweeping  here  and  there 
on  the  breeze, — the  solemn  tones  of  the  vesper  bells 
chiming  from  many  a  dome  or  convent  tower, — all 
had  a  voice  and  meaning  to  him.  Now,  awakening 
a  pleasing  train  of  reflection, — now,  weighing  on 
his  spirits  with  a  despondency  it  was  difficult  for 
him  to  shake  off.  On  these  evenings,  to  me  full  of 
delightful  reminiscences,  he  would  recur  to  the  scenes 
of  his  earlier  youth,  and  the  many  warm  and  devoted 


228  MEMOIR  OP 

friends  he  had  left  in  America, — then  would  he  weave 
bright  schemes  for  the  future,  in  which  those  he 
separated  himself  from  in  his  native  land  were  to 
be  partakers, — and  he  dwelt  on  his  sojourn  in  Italy, — 
thoug-h  surrounded  with  every  thing-  to  fascinate  and 
charm  the  artist,  as  only  a  self-exilement  from  those 
endearing  sympathies  of  the  heart, — that  yearning 
solicitude  for  those  bound  to  us  by  long  and  strongly 
woven  ties  of  affection  and  blood  which  is  the  sum- 
ming up  of  the  happiness  of  existence. 

In  recounting  the  incidents  of  his  earher  years,  he 
would  fall  into  a  melancholy  mood,  especially  when 
dwelling  upon  his  mother  and  family,  to  whom  never 
was  son  more  attached  ; — and  it  was  only  by  present- 
ing the  ambitious  and  calculating  reasons  for  the 
necessity  of  a  residence  in  a  strange  land  in  their 
most  attractive  hues,  that  his  depressed  spirits  could 
be  wrought  upon  to  assume  their  wonted  hghtness. 
One  of  the  great  atoning  features  to  living  in  Italy, 
and  depriving  himself  of  the  tender  communings  of 
home  friends,  was  the  higher  appreciation  of  artistic 
talent  here  than  in  America,  and  the  consequent 
respect  paid  to  the  profession,  whereas,  beyond  the 
Atlantic,  his  sensitiveness  was  constantly  experien- 
cing wounds  and  mortifications, — here  he  felt  a  con- 
fidence in  his  position  as  an  artist,  and  proud  of  an 
occupation  considered  as  next  to  divine, — capable  of 
so  much  that  is  enhghtening,  elevating  and  refining, 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX,  229 

and  numbering*  so  many  lofty  intellects  among-  its 
professors.  This,  therefore,  was  the  chief  compen- 
sation for  denying-  himself  the  comforts  of  the  social 
circle  at  home,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  warm  quiet 
hearths  of  his  devoted  friends. 

Occupied  with  his  pictures  throug"h  the  long*  sum- 
mer's day,  he  cared  little  for  making-  acquaintances, 
— in  fact  rather  shunned  forming-  a  large  circle, — 
which  would  only  consume  his  time  without  yielding' 
an  equivalent.  He  therefore  sought  out  and  associ- 
ated with  but  three  or  four  choice  spirits,  who  could 
sympathize  and  feel  with  him,  whether  for  sadness 
or  for  mirth.  Among  those,  the  lamented  Clevenger 
and  Mr.  Brown  were  his  favourites,  thousfh  with  his 
countrymen  and  brother  artists  at  Florence,  he  was 
at  all  times  on  cordial  terms. 

Thus  passed  the  warm  months  until  October,  when 
a  pedestrian  excursion  into  the  Appenines  was  pro- 
posed, and  a  small  party  formed,  consisting  of  Mr. 

S ,  from  Virginia,  Mr.  M ,  from  Boston,  Mr. 

De  Veaux  and  myself, — all  beginners  in  art  and  de- 
sirous of  worshipping  at  the  shrine  of  nature,  remote 
from  cities'  haunts.  With  light  hearts  and  joyous 
spirits  we  shouldered  our  knapsacks  and  portfolios, — 
bade  a  brief  adieu  to  Florence  and  commenced  our 
tour  by  following  the  course  of  the  Arno  towards  its 
source. 

For  a   day  or  two  we  loitered  along  the  valley. 


230  MEMOIR    OF 

making-  sketches  and  memorandums  of  the  scenery, — 
then  clambered  the  mountains  to  the  convent  of  Val- 
lambrosa,  where  we  remained  two  or  three  days, — 
studying-  the  broad  landscape  that  lay  spread  hke  a 
map  beneath  us, — adding  to  our  stock  of  drawings 
from  the  wild  rocks  and  glens  in  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity of  the  convent,  and  partaking  the  cheer  of  the 
hospitable  monks. 

From  this  we  crossed  a  lofty  range  of  the  Apen- 
nines, and  descended  to  the  valley  of  the  Arno  again, 
halting  at  night  at  a  small  hamlet  by  the  way  side. 
The  next  morning  we  resumed  our  route,  and  not- 
withstanding a  drenching  rain  had  set  in,  we  con- 
tinued our  way  across  the  country,  nothing  daunted 
by  the  obstacles  we  encountered  in  our  blind  path, — 
for  in  our  enthusiastic  mood,  no  undertaking  seemed 
too  formidable  for  novices  in  search  of  the  picturesque 
and  beautiful. 

With  spirits,  as  quiet  people  would  say,  strongly 
tinctured  by  the  romantic,  we  went  singing  on  our 
way,  waking  the  echoes  of  the  frowning  Appennines 
with  songs  and  choruses  we  had  heard,  along-  the 
wild  track  we  were  passing-  over.  After  climbing- 
ruins,  crossing-  brooks,  and  being  carried  over  a  wide 
rapid  stream  on  the  back  of  a  modern  Hercules, — we 
found  ourselves  toward  the  close  of  the  day  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  on  which  the  Convent  of  La 
Verna  is  situated.     Although  we  had  been  v/alking 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  231 

since  early  morning"  the  convent  whitlier  we  tended 
was  still  five  miles  distant,  but  with  stout  hearts  we 
commenced  the  ascent  and  ere  long-  were  enveloped 
in  clouds  which  saturated  the  few  dry  threads  we 
had  remaining".  Still  we  kept  our  spirits  up, — we 
sang"  our  ditties, — and  thus  at  nig"ht-fall  reached  with 
g-lad  hearts  and  weary  hmbs  the  Convent.  Ere  long- 
and  the  kind  monks  had  a  roaring"  fire  in  the  wide 
arched  hall,  and  a  supper  table  spread  before  it  wor- 
thy a  king".  Never  was  any  thing"  more  acceptable, 
and  none  among"  the  party  enjoyed  as  much  as 
De  Veaux  the  termination  of  the  day,  and  the 
quaintness  of  our  position  sheltered  from  the  storms 
without,  on  a  high  peak  of  the  Appennines  buried 
amid  clouds, — in  a  word  within  the  Convent  of  La 
Verna!  After  the  bountiful  supper  we  were  hon- 
oured by  a  visit  from  the  father  of  the  Convent,  who 
conversed  long  upon  the  history  and  legends  of  the 
place,  and  the  character  of  its  founder  St.  Francis. 
On  learning"  that  we  were  Americans,  he  manifested 
great  interest  and  curiosity, — never  having"  seen  but 
two  or  three  of  our  countrymen  before,  though  with 
the  state  of  our  country  and  its  institutions  he  was 
intimately  acquainted.  Retiring"  he  bade  us  make 
the  Convent  our  home  as  long"  as  it  pleased  us  to 
remain.  The  next  day,  as  it  was  Sunday,  and  the 
weather  stormy,  we  confined  ourselves  within  doors, 
conversing  with  such  of  the  monks  as  favoured  us 


232  MEMOIR    OF 

with  a  visit,  who  impressed  us  deeply  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  their  characters  and  the  pm-eness  of  their 
minds. 

On  the  following-  morning-  not  a  vapour  was  to  be 
seen, — and  on  going-  out  we  found  ourselves  sur- 
rounded by  some  of  the  most  stupendous  scenery 
Italy  can  boast  of.  On  the  summit  of  the  mountain  a 
circular  palisade  of  perpendicular  rocks  rises, — vary- 
ing- from  five  to  twelve  hundred  feet,  embracing-  a 
circuit  of  a  mile, — on  this  elevation  the  Convent  is 
placed, — surrounded  by  the  most  wild  and  sublime 
combinations  of  rocks,  caverns  and  g-ig-antic  trees 
imaginable,  and  embracing  as  you  walk  around  the 
edge  of  the  palisades,  views  of  the  mountains  and 
plains  of  Italy  extending  from  the  Mediterranean  to 
the  Adantic. 

Here  then  was  a  spot  for  a  mind  like  De  Veaux's 
to  feast  itself, — accordingly  we  remained,  enchanted 
and  exhilarated  beyond  expression  for  three  or  four 
days,  visiting  among  other  things  with  artistic  ven- 
eration the  ruined  castle  of  Cusii  where  Michael 
Angelo  was  born.  It  was  with  pain  we  parted  from 
the  benevolent  monks,  who  had  lavished  so  much 
kindness  and  attention  upon  us ; — while  poor  De 
Veaux  could  talk  of  nothing  else  for  miles  after  we 
had  left  them,  but  their  disinterested  civilities, — their 
warm  natures. 

After  two  or  three  days  farther   wandering  we 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  233 

were  compelled  to  return  to  Florence,  owing-  to  the 
lateness  of  the  season,  thoug-h  we  did  so  with  great 
reluctance.  I  am  induced  thus  to  particularize  this 
jaunt,  as  it  made  so  g-reat  an  impression  on  De  Veaux, 
that  until  his  death,  he  never  ceased  to  speak  of  it 
but  with  the  most  lively  pleasure,  always  contempla- 
ting- a  return  to  the  sanctuaries  of  Vallambrosa  and 
La  Verna. 

Ag'ain  in  Florence,  and  he  applied  himself  closely 
to  his  picture, — but  having'  g-iven  up  his  studio,  he 
worked  at  my  rooms  until  October  26th,  when 
he  packed  and  accompanied  it  to  Leghorn, — from 
whence  he  returned  in  a  few  days,  and  commenced 
a  series  of  costume  drawings  from  the  cloisters  until 
November  10th.  Then  he  was  interrupted  for  a 
few  days  by  a  cold,  from  which  he  probably  never 
recovered  entirely, — though  he  recommenced  his  la- 
bours at  the  cloisters  until  the  22d,  on  which  day  we 
started  for  Rome  by  Vetturino,  and  notwithstanding- 
the  exceeding-ly  disagreeable  weather  that  followed 
us  nearly  to  this  city,  De  Veaux  was  in  high  glee 
and  the  life  of  our  party. 

At  Siena  and  Viterbo  we  saw  all  worthy  of  note; 
and  along  the  whole  route,  dwelt  upon  the  themes 
each  few  miles  awaken  in  the  student  travelling  in 
Italy.  The  sites  of  battle  ground.s,  where  the  free- 
dom or  thraldom  of  the  republic's  cities  were  decided; 

Feudal  castles  here  and  there  with  their  associations 
30 


234  MEMOIR  OF 

of  violence, — the  haunts  of  modern  banditti.  The 
pestiferous  lake  of  Bolsena,  and  as  we  approached 
the  Eternal  city  the  frequent  localities  that  carried 
thoug-ht  back  to  the  earher  incidents  of  history,  and 
events  with  more  extensive  connections, — furnished 
never  ending"  subjects  of  discourse. 

Thus  we  journeyed,  and  on  the  fifth  nig-ht  slept 
within  fifteen  miles  of  Rome.  The  next  day  proving 
cloudless,  awakened,  from  the  near  proximity  to  the 
city  of  the  soul,  all  the  latent  enthusiasm  of  our  fellow 
passeng-ers.  Excitement  and  joy  pervaded  every 
breast  except  that  of  poor  De  Veaux,  In  vain  I 
endeavoured  to  rally  him, — and  as  we  g-ained  some 
eminence,  pointed  out  the  boundaries  of  the  wide 
spread  and  deserted  Campagna, — the  Sabine  moun- 
tains soaring"  into  the  clear  blue  sky, — the  Alban 
hills, — the  far  off"  Mediterranean, — the  ruined  towers 
dotting"  the  broad  plain, — the  sites  of  Veil, — all  illu- 
mined by  the  morning"  sun.  And,  when  nearer  we 
caug"ht  our  first  glimpse  of  the  Dome  of  St.  Peters,  I 
gave  the  accustomed  shout  of  '■  Eco  Roma!^  and 
directed  his  attention  to  the  seven  hills  and  their 
enduring  structures, — he  exclaimed,  'my  dear  fellow, 
'tis  useless, — would  to  God  I  could  feel  as  you  do, 
but  it  is  now  too  late.  My  eyes  should  have  beheld 
this  years  ago,  when  the  warm  springs  of  my  being 
were  flowing  freely, — when  I  had  the  energy  of 
younger  years  to  battle  with  what  those  walls  con- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  235 

tain, — when  I  knew  no  bounds  to  my  ambition,  and 
no  undertaking-  was  too  great  for  me, — then  I  should 
have  hailed  Rome  with  extacy,  but  now,  when  I  look 
at  the  years  devoted  to  a  wrong*  channel  of  study, 
and  contemplate  what  there  is  to  be  accomplished 
by  me  in  our  profession, — it  strikes  a  chill  to  my 
heart  that  nothing"  can  dispel,  and  the  sight  of  Rome 
only  ag"g"ravates.  What  is  yon  soaring-  dome  to  me, 
and  the  poetry  of  this  widely  extended  landscape 
now  1     I  tell  you  it  is  too  late.' 

In  vain  I  reasoned  with  him  against  g-iving  way  to 
such  morbid  feelings, — in  vain  by  every  power  of 
persuasion,  I  endeavoured  to  shake  the  gloom  from 
his  spirits,  and  bade  him  draw  his  augury  for  the 
future  from  the  brightness  of  the  day  which  ushered 
him  to  the  Eternal  city, — but  no, — his  mind  took  the 
hue  of  desolation  around  him,  and  he  found  the  type 
of  his  own  sad  thoughts  whichever  way  he  turned 
his  eyes.  My  appeals  were  therefore  idle,  and  it 
was  not  until  after  we  had  left  the  country  and 
whirled  through  the  Porta  del  Popolo,  exchanging 
instantaneously  the  somberness  of  the  Campagna  for 
the  bustle  and  gaiety  of  the  lively  Piazza, — startled 
by  the  transition  from  a  dead  world  to  a  space  teem- 
ing with  life  on  every  side,  in  the  equipages  dashing 
up  and  down  the  Pincean  promenade,  or  past  him 
into  the  gardens  of  the  Borghese, — he  ran  his  eye  up 
the  long  vista  of  the  Corso  lined  with  lofty  palaces, — 


236  MEMOIR    OF 

saw  the  statues  reposing-,  and  fountains  sparkling-  in 
the  sun, — glanced  at  the  pointed  obelisks,  the  church- 
es, hotels  and  cypresses  encircling-  the  Piazza, — that 
he  became  himself  once  more,  exclaiming-  '■  and  this 
then  is  Rome.''  In  spite  of  himself,  the  cloud  was 
gone  from  his  mind,  and  he  could  not  but  fain  ac- 
knowledge the  power  of  the  noontide  scene,  so  full 
of  interest  and  beauty.  The  prepossession  was  for- 
tunate and  favourable  beyond  his  expectations, — from 
that  moment  Florence  was  forgotten,  and  he  became 
wedded  to  Rome  by  a  more  lofty  and  intense  feeling. 
Independendy  of  its  artistic  attractions,  he  loved  it 
for  all  its  exalted  associadons  and  soul  imposing 
treasures,  with  an  affection  that  grew  upon  him  more 
and  more  every  day,  until  he  would  say,  '  would  that 
my  American  friends  were  all  here,  to  participate 
with  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  this  choice  spot  of  the 
earth!' 

He  immediately  took  lodgings  in  Via  Rassella,  and 
in  a  few  days  had  his  plans  laid  for  the  winter,  which 
were  to  copy  two  or  three  pictures  for  those  friends 
at  home  who  had  commissioned  him,  then  turn  his 
attention  to  original  works.  Upon  going  the  rounds 
of  the  galleries  and  churches,  and  beholding  the  im- 
mense collections  of  high  works  of  art,  that  at  every 
step  arrested  his  attention,  he  became  desponding 
again,  exclaiming, — 'how  useless  to  attempt  anything 
when  such  master  productions  are  staring  and  mock- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  237 

ing  scornfully  at  your  feeble  efforts.  I  endeavoured 
to  encourag-e  him  by  citing-  the  self-humiliating-  im- 
pression Rome  had  produce^!  on  all  foreig-n  artists, 
from  Reynolds  to  the  comer  of  yesterday,  and  led 
him  to  contemplate  other  thing's,  such  as  the  Coli- 
seum, the  Forums,  Pantheon,  &c.  These  and  the 
other  prominent  objects  of  interest,  occupied  and 
delig-hted  him  for  a  few  days.  At  St.  Peters'  he 
gazed  reverentially,  seeming  as  though  he  would 
never  finish  studying  its  materials  and  dimensions. 
Having  satisfied  his  curiosity  with  the  localities  of 
Rome,  the  desire  for  labor  returned  strong  again, 
and  we  looked  through  the  galleries  of  the  different 
palaces,  with  the  object  of  selecting  something  to 
copy.  At  the  Corsini  palace  he  found  two  or  three 
compositions  that  pleased  him,  but  on  enquiry,  learn- 
ed that  the  difficulties  of  procuring  admission  to  copy 
were  nearly  as  great  as  at  Florence,  the  same  result 
attended  his  efforts  at  the  Vatican,  and  he  again 
began  to  censure  his  ill  luck,  and  despair  of  attaining 
his  purposes.  I  insisted  on  his  accompanying  me  to 
other  galleries,  till  at  last,  after  much  consideration 
and  some  detention,  he  determined  to  copy  '  Rebecca 
at  the  Fountain,^  in  the  Colonna  Palace.  The  per- 
mission once  obtained,  he  worked  steadily  at  this 
copy  for  one  or  two  months,  setting  apart  an  after- 
noon in  each  week  for  visiting  the  halls  of  the  Vati- 
can, Capitol,  or  Sistine  Chapel. 


238  MEMOIR    OP 

Through  the  kindness  and  Hberality  of  some  Ame- 
rican g-entlemen,  a  fund  had  been  raised  to  form 
an  American  drawing"  academy,  for  the  benefit  of 
American  students  at  Rome,  and  intended  to  be  the 
nucleus  of  an  institution  that  should  afford  permanent 
advantages  to  all  our  young  countrymen  visiting  Italy 
with  the  purpose  of  studying  art,  but  by  mismanage- 
ment, the  intention  of  the  founders  w^as  thwarted, 
and  after  the  second  winter  the  embryo  academy 
ceased  to  exist.  None  of  the  students  however, 
valued  the  advantages  and  opportunities  for  studying 
under  a  competent  master  of  drawing  more  than 
De  Veaux,  and  during  the  whole  season,  never  miss- 
ed a  night  unless  by  illness.  Here  he  much  improved 
himself,  and  was  loud  in  his  praise  of  those  who 
regarded  art  with  such  interest,  as  to  propose  a 
gratuitous  academy,  with  advantages  superior  to  the 
other  national  institutions  at  Rome,  and  deplored  its 
extinction  as  a  universal  loss  to  American  artists 
coming  abroad. 

Constantly  occupied,  the  winter  passed  rapidly, 
and  with  a  better  acquaintance  he  became  more  and 
more  attached  to  Rome.  He  liked  the  reunion  of 
his  brother  artists,  both  countrymen  and  foreigners, 
forming  that  republic  of  art,  which  is  known  only 
at  this  its  great  treasury,  and  whose  place  of  assem- 
bly, discussion  and  council  is  the  Cafe  Greco.  He 
liked  the  feasts  that  a  stroll  at  any  time  brought  his 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  239 

mind, — loved  the  poetry  of  association,  tliat  wraps 
every  thing  within  the  circumference  of  the  seven 
hills,  and  he  delighted  in  the  mild  genial  climate. 

During  the  carnival,  he  was  the  life  of  the  Ameri- 
can revellers,  and  enjoyed  the  pleasantries  of  the 
season  with  infinite  rehsh.  My  rooms  being  on  the 
Corso  that  winter,  they  were  the  rendezvous  and 
attiring  place  for  many  of  the  young  men,  and  here 
to  the  great  merriment  of  those  assembled,  his  hu- 
mor displayed  itself  in  the  character  of  a  portly 
planter,  a  facetious  negro,  or  a  genuine  Jonathan, 
before  personifying  those  characters  in  the  crowded 
streets.  The  Americans  at  the  Carnival  that  year, 
will  long  remember  '  de  ole  nigger  what  come  to  see 
how  de  berry  young  missus  do,  and  spell  dere  mam- 
mas a  long  piece  of  adwice  as  to  de  excrutiating 
manner  dey  was  to  bring  'em  up.' 

The  Carnival  past,  and  having  finished  his  copy, 
he  took  a  studio  in  the  Via  Olmo  near  St.  Maria 
Maggiore,  and  commenced  his  composition  of  the 
Brigand  about  the  first  of  March.  At  this  he  worked 
assiduously,  until  spring  was  far  advanced,  though 
never  pleasing  himself. 

When  comins-  to  Rome  in  the  autumn,  Mr.  De 
Veaux  and  myself  had  laid  our  plans  to  visit  Naples 
together  in  the  spring,  making  a  pedestrian  excursion 
through  the  Abruzzi,  and  from  thence  to  proceed  to 
Venice  and  make  a  few  copies, — then  return  to  Rome 


240  MEMOIR    OF 

again  for  the  ensuing-  winter  ;  but  as  the  season  ad- 
vanced, and  he  progressed  with  his  picture  so  httle 
to  his  satisfaction,  and  being  determined  not  to  send 
home  careless  works,  he  began  to  entertain  fears 
that  he  should  not  be  able  to  leave  until  the  middle 
of  summer.  I  accordingly  made  my  arrangements 
at  his  request  to  start  without  him,  and  on  the  20th 

of  May  proceeded  into  the  Abruzzi  with  Mr.  L , 

a  brother  artist. 

As  soon  as  we  were  established  in  the  '  city  of  the 
sea,'  I  wrote  for  Mr.  De  Veaux  to  come  on  and  join 
us,  representing  the  advantages  he  would  enjoy  for 
copying,  the  charms  of  the  city, — in  truth  proffering 
all  the  inducements  in  my  power  for  him  to  hasten 
from  the  heats  of  Rome  and  meet  me  at  Venice. 
The  letter  he  wrote  in  answer  to  my  request,  is 
full  of  joyous  anticipations, — as  here  he  thought  he 
might  be  able  to  execute  his  rem&,ining  commissions, 
and  then  study  in  the  manner  he  had  long  proposed 
to  himself 

As  soon  as  his  pictures  were  completed,  he  left 
Rome  and  travelled  with  all  diligence  to  Venice. 
Pausing  a  day  or  two  at  Florence,  and  one  day  at 
Bologna,  he  arrived  on  the  15th  of  July, — and  as  I 
had  engaged  rooms  in  the  Palazzo  Q^uirini,  where 
Mr.  L.  and  myself  were  hving,  he  at  once  felt  him- 
self at  home,  and  anxious  to  commence  his  studies. 
Our  location  was  delightful  for  an  artist,  being  in  a 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  241 

palace  on  the  Grand  Canal,  adjoining-  the  Academy 
of  Fine  Arts,  and  having-  the  first  floor  to  ourselves, 
we  were  as  independent  as  nabobs  and  happy  as 
the  day  was  long-.  The  wide  apartments,  the  bustle 
of  the  Grand  Canal,  with  its  barg-es  and  gondolas 
g-liding-  beneath  our  windows, — the  sumptuous  piles 
of  architecture  rising-  around  us, — the  refreshing  sea 
breezes  tempering-  the  summer's  atmosphere,  and  the 
close  proximity  almost  under  the  same  roof  with  the 
master  pieces  of  Venetian  art, — inhaling  the  spirit  of 
Titian,  Paul  Veronese  and  Tintoretto, — what  more 
could  an  artist  desire  in  the  way  of  his  profession  and 
its  comforts?  To  De  Veaux  it  seemed  a  Paradise, 
and  the  realization  of  his  youthful  dreams.  Here, 
as  at  Rome,  I  played  his  Cicerone,  in  return  for  the 
same  office  he  had  bestowed  upon  me  at  Florence, — 
and  the  day  after  his  arrival  being-  afesta,  we  called 
the  g-ondola  and  proceeded  across  the  wide  canal  of 
the  Giudecca  to  the  church  of  the  Redentore,  where 
hig-h  mass  was  being-  performed,  and  whither  all 
Venice  was  flocking-  over  a  bridg-e  of  boats  tempo- 
rarily constructed.  The  beauty  of  the  day,  the  no- 
velty of  the  scene,  the  mysterious  motion  of  the 
gondola,  the  gaily  dressed  dames,  awoke  all  De 
Veaux's  enthusiasm  again,  and  he  gave  way  to  his 
feelings  until  every  eulogistic  epithet  was  exhausted. 
From  this  church  we  rowed  to  the  Cathedral  and 

Piazza  of  St.  Mark,  which  we  visited  in  turn  with 
31 


242  MEMOIR    OF 

the  Ducal  Palace,  where  De  Veaux  pronounced  him- 
self gratified  beyond  his  wildest  imag-inings,  and 
desirous  of  seizing*  the  spirit  of  art  while  it  swayed 
him  so  tumultuously. 

Accordingly,  as  Mr.  L and  myself  were  copy- 
ing in  the  church  of  >S'^.  Sebastian  during  the  recess  I 
of  the  Academy,  he  selected  the  altar  picture  as  the 
most  appropriate  subject  for  one  of  his  commissions, 
and  commenced  at  once  his  labours  in  unison  with 
us.  And  for  many  a  long  day,  how  happy  were  we 
together  over  the  tomb  of  Paul  Veronese,  who  is 
buried  in  the  church  which  he  decorated  with  the 
finest  specimens  of  his  pencil,  insomuch  that  the 
whole  edifice  may  be  called  his  Mausoleum. 

Here  then  would  we  repair  after  our  social  break- 
fast at  seven,  and  continue  unremittingly  in  our 
painting  until  six  p.  m.,  when  we  returned  home  and 
dined  in  the  wide  hall  of  the  Palace,  which  would 
ring  again  with  our  mirth  and  enjoyment.  After  this 
meal  the  chairs  would  be  transported  to  the  balcony 
overhanging  the  grand  canal,  and  here,  while  smo- 
king our  cigars,  would  we  watch  the  throng  of  gondo- 
las filled  with  the  beauty  of  Venice, — the  rays  of  the 
declining  sun,  as  they  illumined  the  fairy  piles  of 
Madonna  Saluta,  or  lit  the  stained  and  time-worn 
palaces  of  the  Foscari,  Moncerrigo  and  Contarini, — 
and  speculate  upon  the  proud  histories  till  evening 
came  on.     Then  a  row  in  the  gondola,  or  a  stroll 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  243 

throug-h  the  Piazza,  enlivened  by  the  witching  strains 
of  Dfiusic  from  a  German  band,  or  the  fair  Venetian 
promenaders,  closed  the  day.  But  how  many  days 
of  delig-htful  reminiscence  could  I  recall  of  our  so- 
journ at  Venice, — recollections  peculiar  to  the  Queen 
of  the  Adriatic, — such  as  wanderings  amid  the  nar- 
row passages  of  that  ocean  city,  in  search  of  the 
picturesque,  or  works  of  art  in  its  multitude  of  church- 
es,— the  moonhght  sails  through  the  dim  canals  or  in 
the  open  lagunes, — and  the  excursions  to  the  neigh- 
bouring islands, — all  these  to  me  are  connected  with 
poor  De  Veaux,  my  constant  companion,  the  sharer 
of  my  joys,  the  reciprocator  of  my  thoughts. 

We  were  all  so  much  occupied  there  that  we  had 
httle  time  to  form  acquaintances,  consequently  knew 
only  a  few  artists  who  had  come  from  Rome,  like 
ourselves,  to  make  studies ; — this  kept  us  so  much 
together,  that  De  Veaux  applied  to  our  trio  the  tide 
of  '  council  of  three.'  The  many  pleasurable  excite- 
ments incident  to  a  life  at  Venice, — the  comforta- 
bleness of  our  situation,  with  the  constant  gaieiy  and 
flow  of  spirits  that  characterized  our  intercourse,  had 
a  tendency  to  dispel  the  melancholy  of  De  Veaux's 
temperament,  and  render  his  seasons  of  depression 
more  rare  than  elsewhere.  Pecuharly  a  nature  of 
sympathy,  he  took  the  hue  of  whatever  was  about 
him,  and  here  there  was  seldom  occasion  for  gloom. 
Still,  at  intervals  he  would  dwell  upon  the  ills  of  life 


244  MEMOIR  OP 

and  his  own  prospects, — but  never  with  more  bitter- 
ness than  on  his  birth-day,  the  6th  of  September, — 
then  he  g"ave  way  to  a  flood  of  bitter  saddening" 
reflections,  that  aU  our  rallying-s  could  not  drive 
from  him.  In  vain  we  jested  him  and  proposed  his 
heahh, — in  vain  we  joked  him  on  his  accumulated 
years  and  honors.  'My  good  friends,'  he  rephed, 
'  this  growing"  old  is  no  theme  for  mirth, — once  I 
could  laugh  at  time,  but  as  we  advance,  time  laughs 
at  us, — my  mood  is  any  thing  but  joyous.'  Little  did 
we  think  as  we  strove  against  the  demon  that  beset 
him,  that  the  anniversary  of  his  last  birth-day  was 
numbered,  and  that  the  w^eight  and  darkness  upon 
his  mind  was  the  shadow  of  the  future,  the  black 
presentiment  of  death  !  In  a  day  or  two  he  recover- 
ed and  was  himself  again,  though  I  find  on  referring 
to  my  Journal,  that  his  thoughts  tended  often  towards 
his  boyhood's  home  and  his  friends  in  America,  while 
his  sad  moods  became  now  more  frequent.  I  re- 
member, a  week  or  ten  days  after  his  birth-day,  we 
went  to  the  Lido,  where  a  festa  or  Villegiatura  was 
held  every  Monday  in  September  by  the  Venetians, 
who  upon  these  occasions  revive  in  a  measure  the 
festivities  for  which  they  were  so  celebrated.  It  was 
on  a  beautiful  afternoon,  and  on  arriving  at  the  island, 
we  amused  ourselves  by  strolling  beneath  the  trees, 
listening  to  the  music,  or  watching  the  groups  at 
their  sports,  tripping  a  hght  measure,  singing  a  chorus 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  245 

or  gazing"  at  a  mountebank.  The  sun  sank  behind 
the  distant  Alps,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  we  went 
from  tent  to  tent,  and  from  fire  to  fire,  contemplating- 
the  exhilarating-  scene,  and  commenting  upon  the 
personag-es  and  shades  of  character  assembled.  As 
the  evening"  waned,  we  rowed  slowly  home  in  com- 
pany with  many  a  gondola  of  revellers,  bound  to- 
ward the  city.  The  lig-hts  of  Venice  came  trickling- 
over  the  waters  of  the  broad  lag-une, — beyond  the 
moon  was  declining-  below  the  horizon,  while  behind 
us  the  noise  and  din  of  the  multitude  lessened  at  each 
stroke  of  the  oar,  g-iving-  place  to  songs  and  choruses 
that  were  wafted  on  the  breeze  of  evening-  from 
many  a  g-ondola.  The  sentiment  of  the  scene  was 
impressive, — disposing-  us  all  to  pensiveness  and  si- 
lence. At  last  De  Veaux  broke  the  channel  of  our 
thoughts,  exclaiming  '  what  a  night !  and  is  it  possible 
that  we  must  leave  all  this  1 — will  it  not  endure  for- 
ever?— truly  'tis  a  bitter  thought,  and  at  this  time  is 
particularly  solemn  to  me,  I  know  not  why,' — and  in 
this  strain  he  conversed  until  we  reached  the  city, 
giving  way  to  the  conviction  that  death  would  ere 
long  end  all  his  earthly  enjoyment.  Though  he  did 
not  allude  to  any  presentiment  of  his  own  approach- 
ing end,  yet  from  the  pecuUar  manner  in  which  he 
spoke,  and  the  sombre  tones  of  his  thoughts,  I  have 
thouoht  since  that  there  was  more  in  his  mind  than 
he  cared  about  acknowledging. 


246  MEMOIR    OF 

He  had  not  been  long-  at  Venice,  when  we  re- 
ceived intelligence  of  the  hopeless  illness  and  afflict- 
ing* circumstances  of  Mr.  Clevenger.  De  Veaux 
was  greatly  affected  by  it,  and  although  at  that  time 
his  purse  was  limited,  yet  with  his  accustomed  gene- 
rosity, he  sent  to  Florence  quite  an  acceptable  sum, 
and  until  he  heard  that  Mr.  Clevenger  had  sailed 
for  America,  the  tidings  preyed  upon  him. 

His  copy  being  finished,  he  made  a  few  sketches 
and  painted  a  portrait  of  himself, — and  then,  as  the 
autumn  was  advancing,  he  made  his  plans  for  leav- 
ing. At  first  I  proposed  accompanying  him  to  Rome, 
but  found  I  could  not  complete  the  pictures  I  had 
commenced  until  about  the  1st  of  November.  De 
Veaux,  however,  was  anxious  to  be  in  Rome,  and 
at  work  again,  having  accomplished  so  little  that 
gratified  him  at  Venice.  He  accordingly  appointed 
Wednesday,  the  18th  October,  for  leaving.  I  wished 
him  to  wait  two  weeks  longer  for  me,  but  in  vain, — 

on  the  day  he  had  proposed,  he  bade  Mr.  L and 

myself  adieu  in  the  morning,  and  as  we  supposed, 
started, — but  a  letter  arriving  from  his  banker  as  he 
was  on  the  point  of  embarking  prevented  his  going, 
and  a  few  hours  after  he  walked  into  the  gallery 
where  we  were  painting,  somewhat  annoyed  at  the 
detention  which  he  regarded  as  ominous.  The  next 
morning,  the  19th,  however,  he  left  us  in  a  violent 
storm,  and  lonely  enough  did  the  time  pass  with  us 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  247 

after  his  departure.  To  me  it  seemed  as  though  all 
that  was  joyous  in  Venice  had  accompanied  him, 
and  our  only  thoughts  now  were  how  long  it  would 
be  ere  we  followed. 

As  we  were  on  the  point  of  leaving,  I  received  a 
letter  from  him,  dated  at  Pestoza,  and  a  postscript 
afterwards  added  at  Florence,  wherein  he  related 
the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  him,  and  how,  upon 
arriving  at  the  frontier  of  the  Papal  states,  between 
Modena  and  Bologna,  he  had  been  prohibited  passing 
from  not  having  the  signature  of  the  Pope's  nuncio 
at  Venice, — consequently  was  obliged  to  cross  the 
Appennines  by  an  unfrequented  pass  into  Tuscany. 
As  the  route  was  seldom  travelled,  he  was  obliged 
to  take  up  with  a  miserable  conveyance,  and  start 
alone  over  the  mountains.  The  weather  proved 
boisterous  and  stormy,  and  the  road  almost  impass- 
able,— on  one  day  a  snow  storm  raged  so  violently 
that  he  could  make  but  twelve  miles,  and  one  of  the 
horses  falling  down,  he  was  compelled  to  walk  two 
miles  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  send  persons  back 
to  assist  his  Vetturino.  At  night  he  was  miserably 
provided,  and  upon  his  arrival  at  Florence,  he  found 
himself  worn  down  with  fatigue  and  anxiety,  and 
suffering  from  a  severe  cold  that  had  fastened  itself 
upon  his  constitution.  This  exposure  and  cold  was 
the  origin  of  his  illness.  So  much  for  the  passport 
system.     It  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  cause  of 


248  MEMOIR  OF 

the  death  of  one  good  fellow,  and  in  doing  so  has 
produced  more  evil  than  counterbalances  all  its  good. 

He  wrote  me  to  be  particular  with  regard  to  my 
passport  at  Venice.  We  followed  in  the  same  route, 
and  at  Mantua  the  book  appended  to  the  passport 
containing  all  my  signatures  was  lost  at  the  police  sta- 
tion, and  as  we  left  before  light,  it  was  not  missed  until 
we  reached  the  frontier, — then  here  was  a  dilemma 
for  me  precisely  similar  to  that  of  poor  De  Veaux, — 
with  the  conviction  of  what  I  was  to  suffer,  in  cross- 
ing the  mountains,  from  his  experience.  At  Parma 
and  Modena,  as  the  loss  was  acknowledged  by  the 
frontier  of  Lombardy,  I  endeavoured  to  procure  a 
permission  to  pass  into  the  States  of  the  Church,  but 
in  vain.  At  Mantua  I  discovered  fortunately  on  the 
back  of  the  passport,  a  signature  of  the  Pope's  nuncio 
at  Paris,  dated  October,  1841,  two  years  previously, 
and  as  the  time  was  such  as  to  warrant  my  having 
come  from  Paris,  I  took  the  liberty  of  altering  the 
one  into  a  three,  and  thus  saved  myself  from  follow- 
ing in  the  steps  of  De  Veaux, — though  not  having 
had  the  signature  of  the  Venice  nuncio  caused  me 
much  difficulty,  and  at  Bologna  they  would  only 
permit  me  to  pass  out  of  the  States  of  the  Church 
again.  I  mention  this  circumstance  as  rather  a  sin- 
gular coincidence,  and  the  different  results  that  at 
times  follow  from  the  like  causes. 

After  pausing   only  a  day  or   two   at   Florence, 


^^ 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  249 

Mr.  De  Veaux  accompanied  Mr.  Chambers  to  Rome ; 
though  on  leaving-  Venice  he  had  proposed  remain- 
ing long  enough  at  Florence  to  copy  a  picture; — 
but  he  found  on  reaching  there  that  the  picture  he 
wished  was  engaged  by  another  artist, — consequent- 
ly he  hastened  to  the  Eternal  city,  by  diligence.  On 
his  passage  he  complained  of  a  pain  in  his  side,  but 
thought  it  nothing  serious.  Arriving  at  Rojiie,  he 
employed  himself  for  a  number  of  days  in  looking  for 
a  studio,  and  as  the  weather  was  rainy  and  the 
streets  wet,,  he  took  an  addition  to  his  cold  which 
increased  the  pain  in  his  breast  and  side, — thus  he 
allowed  it  to  linger  on  without  consulting  a  physician^ 
as  his  friends  advised  him. 

On  the  2d.  December,  I  again  took  up  my  quarters 
here,  and  the  first  person  who  welcomed  me  was 
De  Veaux, — he  had  that  day  found  a  studio  in  Piazza 
Barberini,  and  I  went  into  the  rooms  he  was  leaving. 
When  he  alluded  to  his  cold  I  begged  him  to  consult 
a  physician  immediately,  but  he  commenced  painting 
without  doing  so,  and  we  saw  each  other  only  at 
dinner.  On  the  next  Saturday  evening,  I  was  told 
by  a  friend  that  De  Veaux  had  just  had  an  attack  of 
spitting  of  blood, — I  could  scarcely  credit  it,  but  hast- 
ened to  his  rooms  and  found  him  sitting  at  a  table 
writing  without  a  fire.  He  alluded  to  the  attack, 
thought  it  came  from  his  stomach  and  was  slight.     I 

censured  him  for  not  being  more  prudent,  and  in- 
32 


250  MEMOIR    OF 

sisted  upon  his  going-  immediately  to  bed, — and 
promised  to  see  him  in  the  morning-,  and  apply  some 
leeches  that  had  been  prescribed  for  him.  The  next 
morning-  on  entering-  the  room,  I  found  Mr.  Chambers 
there  before  me,  and  Mr.  De  Veaux  pacing-  back- 
ward and  forward  spitting-  blood  here  and  there  in  a 
hig-hly  excited  state.  He  had  just  been  attacked  a 
second  time, — Mr.  C.  went  instantly  for  the  Doctor, 
while  I  endeavoured  to  calm  him  and  g-et  him  to  bed. 
For  ten  days  Mr.  Chambers  and  myself  watched  with 
him  alternately  day  and  nig-ht.  A  g-ood  nurse  was 
then  procured,  and  during-  his  illness  I  saw  him  once 
or  twice  nearly  every  day.  My  eng-ag-ements  would 
not  permit  me  to  be  in  such  constant  attendance  as 
Mr.  Chambers,  to  whom  the  highest  praise  is  due  for 
his  unceasing-  devotion  during- .all  his  long  and  painful 
illness.  No  brother  could  have  performed  the  kind 
offices  with  more  real  and  deep-felt  interest,  while 
his  fervent  religious  character  was  a  great  source  of 
consolation  to  the  suffering  invalid.  Previously  to  his 
confinement  he  commenced  a  small  costume  picture, 
and  a  composition  of  Hagar  and  Ishmael  in  the  wil- 
derness, which  however  he  had  but  just  begun  to 
paint  upon  when  he  was  so  fatally  seized. 

As  Mr.  Chambers  notified  you  from  time  to  time  of 
the  progress  of  his  disease,  and  the  happy  state  of 
his  mind  towards  its  close,  it  will  be  useless  for  me 
to  recount  the  weary  months  that  passed, — the  en- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  251 

courag-ement  of  himself  and  friends  that  he  would 
recover, — with  the  hopes  and  plans  for  the  future, — 
the  subsequent  despair,  and  final  resignation  to  the 
decrees  of  our  All-wise  Creator.  To  his  friends  in 
America  however,  it  will  be  a  great  gratification  to 
know  that  during  the  whole  of  his  sickness,  every 
care  and  attention  was  paid  him  by  numerous  friends, 
who  were  ever  solicitous  to  administer  to  his  neces- 
sities. 

His  sad  state  threw  a  gloom  over  the  spirits  of  all 
his  brother  artists,  by  whom  he  was  universally  be- 
loved, and  the  first  salutation  at  meeting-  was, — how 
is  poor  De  Veaux? — is  there  any  thing  encouraging? 

About  the  first  of  March  he  was  removed  into  Via 
Baberino,  a  more  central  situation.  Here  he  first 
learned  that  there  was  no  hope  for  his  recovery, — 
and  all  his  thoughts  were  turned  toward  preparing 
himself  for  the  last  great  change.  The  house  in  Via 
Baberino  was  found  to  be  too  noisy  for  him,  and  we 
removed  him  into  Via  St.  Sebastianella,  a  small  street 
leading  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna; — here  he  en- 
joyed quiet  and  the  frequent  visits  of  his  friends,  and 
among  them  two  or  three  clergymen,  who  became 
interested  in  his  situation.  But  he  soon  became  so 
feeble,  that  he  could  converse  with  them  but  little. 
From  these  apartments  he  never  went  out  until  he 
was  carried  to  his  last  abiding  place, — but  lingered 
on,   taking   no  heed  of  the  world   without,   or  the 


252  MEMOIR    OF 

chang-es  of  the  advancing*  spring-.  The  fragrance  of 
early  flowers, — the  sing-ing-  of  the  birds  had  now  no 
charm  for  him, — his  mind  was  dwelling"  constantly 
upon  that  clime  '  where  there  is  no  more  snow,  no 
scorching"  noon-tide  heat,' — and  his  fanciful  imag"ery 
was  forming"  visions  of  a  perfect  paradise,  pure, 
unsullied,  uncontaminated.  His  dreams  of  earthly 
excellence  were  blig-hted, — the  yearning-  and  aspira- 
tions of  early  years  for  a  worldly  renown,  blasted, 
— the  long"  cherished  hopes  of  his  life,  dashed  out! 
But  with  the  faith  and  confidence  of  a  true  Chris- 
tian, he  raised  himself  above  the  disappointments  of 
this  existence,  and  plumed  his  pinions  for  a  flig-ht  to 
those  happy  realms, — where  the  storms  of  passion, 
the  strug-g-les  ag-ainst  adverse  circumstance, — the 
neg"lect  of  worth,  and  human,  frailties  are  unknown. 
As  his  dissolution  approached  his  constant  prayer 
was  that  God  would  hasten  his  end,  and  not  delay 
the  joys  that  were  awaiting"  him, — though  while  it 
pleased  his  Maker  to  keep  him  upon  earth,  to  endow 
him  with  patience  to  bear  his  chastening"  rod. — 
^ Purge  me,  purge  me,  oh!  God,  and  make  me  clean,' 
was  ever  his  prayer  and  suppHcation.  Thus  he  hn- 
gered  on  until  Saturday  night,  April  27th,  1844, 
when  he  sent  for  Mr.  Chambers  at  one  o'clock,  en- 
quired why  all  his  friends  v/ere  not  called,  addressed 
a  few  words  to  Mr.  Chambers,  and  at  five  o'clock, 
A.  M.  on  Sunday,  breathed  his  last. 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  253 

On  referring-  to  my  Journal  of  that  date  I  find  I 
made  the  following"  remarks: 

'As  the  day  was  dawning  he  desired  the  woman 
to  open  the  blinds  and  admit  more  light, — after  asking- 
for  his  friends  he  became  quiet,  murmuring-  to  him- 
self from  time  to  time,  and  the  last  words  Chambers 
heard  him  utter,  were  '  Jesus,  blessed  Jesus,' — thus 
his  soul  wing-ed  its  way,  sounding-  the  watch-word  of 
Heaven, — and  his  g-entle  spirit  sought  that  peace  for 
which  he  had  been  so  ardently  praying-  the  last  two 
weeks.  It  was  near  day-break  when  the  silver 
chord  was  broken,  and  the  early  light  was  stealing 
as  a  precursor  of  the  sun,  over  Monte  Trinita,  and 
shedding-  its  faint  influence  in  the  room  of  the  sick 
man.  The  nig-ht  taper  like  the  invalid  on  his  couch 
had  sunk  to  its  socket,  and  the  feebleness  of  both 
were  about  to  be  exchanged  for  a  hght  unceasing- 
and  full  of  glory.  As  if  to  g-aze  once  more  upon  the 
blue  sky,  and  recall  a  ling-ering*  thought  of  earth,  the 
sick  man  desired  the  window  should  be  opened ; — 
who  can  tell  the  thoug-hts  that  rushed  throug-h  his 
mind  as  his  feeble  vision  soug-ht  the  narrow  aperture, 
and  the  g-rey  dawn  without'?  From  the  state  of  his 
mind  however,  we  can  easily  suppose  he  was  think- 
ing- of  the  clime  where  no  night  usurped  the  hues 
of  day,  where  every  thing-  was  fresh  as  bursting 
morning-, — and  with  a  murmuring-  prayer  to  the  Great 
Author  of  light  his  freed  spirit  sped  its  way  from  a 


254  MEMOIR    OP 

frail  perishing-  tenement  into  the  efFulg"ent  glory  sur- 
rounding- Jehovah's  throne.'        *         *         *         * 

It  was  on  Monday,  April  the  29th,  that  his  friends 
and  all  the  Americans  at  Rome,  assembled  to  pay 
the  last  tribute  of  reg-ard  to  all  that  this  world  claimed 
of  poor  De  Veaux.  Towards  the  close  of  the  after- 
noon the  hearse,  followed  by  a  hne  of  carriag-es,  took 
its  mournful  course  through  the  crowded  streets  to 
the  Protestant  burial  g-round.  The  g-enial  tempera- 
ture of  early  spring-  was  awakening-  in  the  trees, 
herbage  and  flowers  a  renewed  existence,  reminding- 
us  of  the  new  state  of  being*  into  which  our  friend 
had  passed, — and  after  the  solemn  service  of  the 
church  had  been  read  over  his  remains,  we  con- 
sig-ned  them  to  their  narrow  house,  as  the  sun  was 
sinking-  below  the  Mediterranean  horizon.  The  hour 
was  impressive,  and  the  place  where  we  laid  him  is 
fitting-  for  the  long-  sleep  of  death.  About  him  are 
the  clustering-  mounds  of  others  of  his  countrymen, 
cut  off  like  himself  in  the  pride  of  their  youth  or 
manhood, — ^fresh  flowers  were  blooming  over  their 
g-raves, — above,  the  tall  cypress  and  pines  moan  in 
the  evening-  wind,  and  the  venerable  walls  of  Rome 
and  the  lofty  pyramidal  mausoleum  of  Caius  Sex- 
tus  throw  their  deep  shadows  over  the  sacred  en- 
closure. Shelley,  Keats,  and  many  a  g-ifted  mind 
from  other  nations  slumber  here ; — the  multitude  of 
the  dead,  the  crumbling-  mould  of  centuries,  the  de- 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  255 

caying"  particles  of  the  earliest  ag-es  of  the  world, 
mingle  alone  with  his  dust,  and  are  the  only  spirits 
that  pervade  the  spot.  Rome  with  its  living"  pulsa- 
tions is  far  removed.  And  here  let  him  repose, — 
like  the  spring"  and  summer  flowers  that  wave  over 
his  g'rave,  his  memory  will  ever  bloom  in  the  hearts 
of  those  who  knew  him, — who,  cut  off  in  the  youth 
of  a  promising"  career,  left  a  name  for  nobleness  of 
character,  g-entleness  of  heart,  and  streng"th  of  feeling", 
more  to  be  envied  than  the  renown  of  g"ifted  talents 
alone, — or  the  proud  blazonry  of  professional  ele- 
vation. 

The  pleasurable  task  I  proposed  to  myself,  my 
dear  sir,  is  finished ; — would  it  were  worthier  the 
dear  friend  whose  loss  we  mourn;  but  if  the  peru- 
sal of  this  slight  sketch  affords  his  friends  at  home 
the  gratification  I  have  derived  from  writing"  it,  my 
object  will  have  been  accompHshed.  If  the  materials 
are  of  service  to  you,  in  your  contemplated  memoir 
of  our  lamented  friend,  they  are  entirely  at  your 
command,  to  do  with  them  as  you  think  proper. 

With  the  assurance  of  the  hig"hest  esteem  and  con- 
sideration beheve  me, 

My  dear  sir,  most  truly  yours, 

Thomas  P.  Rossiter." 

A  plain  marble  slab  erected  by  artist  friends,  now 
marks  the  spot  where  lie  his  remains,  far  from  his 


256  MEMOIR  OF 

home  and  country.  It  is  placed  upright,  and  under 
his  profile,  which  is  cut  in  high  relief,  is  the  following 
inscription : 

SACRED 

To  the  memory  of 
JAMES  DE  VEAUX, 

PAINTER, 

Who  was  born  in  Charleston,  S.  C,  America, 

And  died  in  Rome,  April  28,  1844, 

Aged  31  years  and  6  months. 

This  monument  has  been  erected  to  the 

Deceased  by  his  friends,  as  a  token  of  their 

High  regard  and  esteem 

For  him. 

After  what  I  have  already  written  of  the  character 
and  course  of  the  subject  of  these  pages,  it  were 
needless  to  review  his  history.  The  partiality  of 
friendship  may  be  allowed  to  say,  that  his  natural 
talents  were  of  a  high  order,  and  his  personal  quali- 
fications those  of  a  gentleman  of  noble  and  refined 
feelings.  To  his  family,  his  loss  is  irreparable, — to 
his  friends  who  mourn  his  early  fall  their  privation 
is  a  painful  one, — to  his  native  State,  his  premature 
dissolution  is  another  example  of  her  misfortune  in 
her  sons  of  genius ;  * — and  his  country  and  the  Fine 


♦  "  South  Carolina  has  had  the  honor  of  producing  one  of  our  greatest  'lights 
of  fame,'  who  but  recently  died  at  Cambridge,  full  of  years  and  of  honors;  and 


JAMES    DE    VEAUX.  257 

Arts  have  cause  to  lament  a  worthy  and  promising" 
Artist,  whose  aims  at  hig-h  excellence,  with  g-eniiis 
and  judgment  and  mechanical  abiUty,  would  have 
given  him  a  proud  position  in  his  profession.  His 
portraits,  of  which  he  painted  a  large  number,  were 
remarkable  for  their  truthfulness  in  likeness,  and  a 
gentility  which  is  always  pleasing.  He  was  apt  to 
improve  upon  his  subject,  but  this  was  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence's  failings  which  made  him  so  popular. — 
''  The  difference  between  Hogarth  and  Michael  An- 
gelo  was  in  the  former  representing  men  as  they 
really  are,  which  gratifies  our  curiosity,  but  the  latter 
soothed  our  pride  by  lifdng  them  higher  and  making 
them  better.  Raphael  shows  the  perfection  of  the 
human  form,  while  Hogarth  illustrates  its  lowest  de- 
gradation or  perversion."  *  De  Veaux  was  pecu- 
liarly happy  in  giving  the  characteristic  air  of  his 
subject,  which  was  a  valuable  acquirement.  North- 
cote  observes  of  this : 

"  The  greatest  history  painters  have  always  been 
able  portrait  painters.  How  should  a  man  paint  a 
thing  in  motion,  if  he  cannot  paint  it  still  1  But  the 
great  point  is  to  catch  the  prevailing  look  and  char- 
acter ;  if  you  are'  master  of  this,  you  can  make  what 


well  might  she  also  mourn  the  untimely  fate  of  another  less  fortunate  son,  cut 
off  piematurely,  at  the  very  dawning  of  his  fame,  who,  had  he  lived,  would 
have  earned  a  name  in  the  annals  of  his  art  as  proud  as  that  of  Allston;  the 
gifted,  generous,  lost  De  Veaux  !" — De  Leon's  Address. 

*  Northcote. 

33 


258  MEMOIR. 

use  of  it  you  please.  If  a  portrait  has  force,  it  will 
do  for  history ;  and  if  history  is  well  painted  it  will 
do  for  portrait.  If  you  can  give  the  look^  you  need 
not  fear  painting-  history." 

In  the  only  two  original  compositions  which  De 
Veaux  has  left,  ^'Christ  and  the  Angels"  and  '^The 
Bandit  and  Fmnily,"  the  stories  are  well  told, — the 
expression  of  the  sentiment  is  successful,  and  they 
are  admirable  specimens  of  that  fine  genius  which  has 
passed  away  in  its  youth.  The  bright  anticipations 
of  hope,  the  briUiant  prospect  of  earthly  success,  the 
rich  rewards  of  years  of  toil,  the  gratification  of  in- 
terested friends,  the  fond  anxiety  of  the  widowed 
parent  in  the  pride  and  prop  of  her  declining  years, 
have  all  been  "  as  a  tale  that  is  told."  But  in  the 
regret  of  friends,  "  they  sorrow  not  as  those  without 
hope," — they  feel  that  ''  he  died  the  death  of  the 
righteous,"  and  has  changed  the  aspirations  of  earth 
for  the  gain  of  Heaven, — the  vain  glory  of  the  world 
that  passeth  away,  for  that  which  endureth  forever 
in  Eternity.  It  is  a  pleasing  consolation  to  them  to 
know  that  his  last  end  was  peace. 

"  How  calm  his  exit, 
Night  dews  fall  not  more  gently  to  the  ground, 
Nor  weary  worn-out  winds  expire  so  soft." 

THE  END, 


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